Image from Rachael Boley

Empty Hands

Or, some thoughts from Rilke and Gibran on how/why to wait for love’s response

“Be understanding with regard to the replies, which often, maybe, will leave you with empty hands.” (Rainer Maria Rilke)

In 1903, The “Young Poet” had to wait for 39 days for Rilke to respond to his second letter.

In 1993, I waited for what seemed like 39 days for my pen pal’s response, every day looking out the window for the mail man, running to the mailbox after he came, and then quickly sifting through the day’s chest for the only piece of treasure I was concerned with.

On Friday, I waited for 39 hours for her text to come. And because it didn’t, I texted first. And then waited, for what I wish was only 39 minutes.

I’m still waiting, “with empty hands.”

But can I be upset at these empty hands? For were they not also empty before? And is not the only thing that has changed the weightless hope that they might eventually not be empty? And should we ever be upset at hope?

I wonder if the Young Poet’s hands felt as empty when he was waiting for the very first letter? (Did he even wait?) Or did this emptiness only come while waiting for the second letter, only after receiving the tenderness of Rilke’s first response?

So can we blame love for this emptiness? For this pain? For the slowly evolving depression that scabs up after each minute we wait empty handed?

Or can we remember, with delicacy, the words from Khalil Gibran’s Prophet, in 1923, after waiting 12 years in exile:

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.