Why do you not think of him as the coming one, imminent from all eternity, the future one, the final fruit of a tree whose leaves we are? What keeps you from projecting his birth into times that are in process of becoming, and living your life like a painful and beautiful day in the history of a great gestation? For do you not see how everything that happens keeps on being a beginning, and could it not be His beginning, since beginning is in itself always so beautiful? If he is the most perfect, must not the lesser be before him, so that he can choose himself out of fullness and overflow?—Must he not be the last, in order to encompass everything within himself, and what meaning would we have if he, for whom we crave, had already been? As the bees bring in the honey, so do we fetch the sweetest out of everything and build Him. With the trivial even, with the insignificant (if it but happens out of love) we make a start, with work and with rest after it, with a silence or with a small solitary joy, with everything that we do alone, without helpers and adherents, we begin him whom we shall not experience any more than our forefathers could experience us. And yet they, those who are long gone, are in us as natural predisposition, as burden on our destiny, as blood that throbs, and as gesture that rises up out of the depths of time. Is there anything that can take from you the hope of thus some day being in him, the farthest, the uttermost?

From “Letters to a Young Poet,” Rainer Maria Rilke

Only a poet like Austrian Rainer Maria Rilke can dig into the depths of the human mind to harvest his novel concept of God. A God that evolves into supreme perfection before embracing us. Rilke’s prose is pure poetry, “And yet they, those who are long gone, are in us as natural predisposition, as burden on our destiny, as blood that throbs, and as gesture that rises up out of the depths of time. Is there anything that can take from you the hope of thus some day being in him, the farthest, the uttermost?”