and the triumph itself makes us small. What is extraordinary and eternal does not want to be bent by us.
It is natural to go through life experiencing peaks and troughs. In fact, it is the natural order of the world. We ebb and flow. Ebb and flow. Always somewhere in the continum of flux. It is how we grow, the way we move in this ocean of the living.
And I think that Rilke is all about how to move in the flux. Winning does not temp the man. If only we would let ourselves be dominated as things do by some immense storm. Perhaps what we are all in need of is a great trouncing! By something so extraordinary and eternal that we would forever be marked and changed by the experience. Thrown to and fro until we learn to cling and at the same time let go. Be taken right to the edge, so that in the face of every ounce of fear that has ever considered living inside of us... we could stand with a bold and courageous heart against the small things that make us small.