At the End of a Still Day in the Hut
September 12th, 1931
Rare days, that want to become a blessing for us.
And how often do we fail to hear their step, quieter than a deer on the moss of the forest floor.
Mostly we catch only what is useful and its varieties, for we are not ready or willing to see the simple.
Though all things bear their secret, the inner greatness of man is the deepest; because it is given to him to become struck by suffering, in order to transform it into the power of his soul.
Humans wander paths full of striving that lead out from each other. But each of us finds, if only we hold true to ourselves, our way back into that ambit of the heart that ought to remain our innermost protection.
That man is permitted to win the sure ripeness and beauty of his essence makes him potent to transform the other invisibly into the truth of their own essence. Where such a transformation happens, there awakens that genuine solitude from out of which man truly encounters the other, so that henceforth his heart acts in the clear presence of the other.
Only what we receive as a blessing—and not as a benefit obtained falsely—overcomes what is small, partial, and greedy in our aspirations.
Rare days of blessing—their image is similar to that of many others, but their hidden power is that rareness that we safeguard only when we are strong enough for thankfulness and big enough to revere the truly great.
(trans. Timothy Lavenz, 2015)