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July 2009 
The Shy One
OK
What strange and wonderful animal is this that has stepped out of the twilight of the woods and is standing still and alert on the trail looking back at me. I have no name for it but I seem to have a memory of having glimpsed it before. I instinctively reach toward it and it naturally moves away. When I move to follow it returns to the darkness of the forest. I dive in behind with a determination not to let this thing escape me. It moves invisibly through the trees as I pursue blindly with increasing fervor although I can't shake the disorienting impression that I am actually the one being followed and so closely and silently that it's feet land in my own footprints as I step out of them. This creature is maddening! Lost, torn, and exhausted I finally have to give up the chase, stop where I am, and collapse in the ferns at my feet. This hunt is hopeless, I'm stopping here. But I wonder where here is. I have no idea how I came or how to get back. Too tired to care for the moment, I lean my back against a tree and close my eyes. Anyway this place is fine, in fact quite nice, and so utterly quiet now with just the sound of my own breathing slowly winding down...
How much time goes by before, without opening my eyes, I suddenly notice with amazement that I can feel the magical creature I've been chasing curled up in my lap?! I feel it's living heart beating under my fingers, it's soft fur quivering with aliveness, it's warm breath on my skin, and I am flooded with love!
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This is beautiful. I feel the flooding of love. Love from here, too, Anna Sophie
magical and delightful. thanks!
this reminds me so much of two poems by Rilke about the Unicorn, do you know them?
The Unicorn
The saintly hermit, midway through his prayers
stopped suddenly, and raised his eyes to witness
the unbelievable: for there before him stood
the legendary creature, startling white, that
had approached, soundlessly, pleading with his eyes.
The legs, so delicately shaped, balanced a
body wrought of finest ivory. And as
he moved, his coat shone like reflected moonlight.
High on his forehead rose the magic horn, the sign
of his uniqueness: a tower held upright
by his alert, yet gentle, timid gait.
The mouth of softest tints of rose and grey, when
opened slightly, revealed his gleaming teeth,
whiter than snow. The nostrils quivered faintly:
he sought to quench his thirst, to rest and find repose.
His eyes looked far beyond the saint's enclosure,
reflecting vistas and events long vanished,
and closed the circle of this ancient mystic legend.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
(Extract from Sonnets to Orpheus)
II, 4
O this is the creature that has never been.They never knew it and yet none the less
its movements, aspects, slender neck,
up to the still bright gaze, were loved.
True it never was, Yet because they loved, it was
a pure creature. They left it room enough.
And in that space, clear and un-peopled,
it raised its head lightly and scarcely needed
being. They didn’t nourish it with food,
but only with the possibility of being.
And that gave the creature so much power
that a horn grew from its brow. One horn.
In its whiteness it drew near a virgin girl –
and was in the mirror’s silver and in her.
IV [SECOND PART]
O this is the creature that does not exist.
They knew nothing and yet without a doubt
—his gait, his posture, his neck, down
to the silent light of his gaze—they had loved.
Indeed, it wasn't real. But because they loved,
it became a pure animal. Always, they gave it space.
And in that space, clear and spare
it raised lightly its head and needed scarcely
to be. They nourished it not with grain,
but with only the possibility that it truly was.
And this gave such strength to the animal
that it grew a horn from its brow. But one horn.
It passed in its whiteness a young maiden—
and appeared in the silver mirror, and in her.