Ultimate meaning must be found within: A man must relate to the outer world from the strength of inner wholeness, not search outside for a meaning that he finds, at last, only in the solitary pathways of his own soul.
Robert Johnson, We: Understanding the Psychology of Romantic Love
When we encounter difficulties we can doubt ourselves and that frequently leads us to compare ourselves unfavourably with others, who appear to have their lives together while we seem to continually fall apart in big or little ways. We can find ourselves noticing who is smarter, more successful or richer; or even who has flatter abs or a better car. Or we compare ourselves to a better version of ourselves, one who is more disciplined, who does not procrastinate, who should be a better parent or partner or friend. This can be quite subtle and unconscious, but it leads to a dissatisfaction with how our moment or our life is, and thus causes suffering. It does not allow us attend to life as it is, or accept ourselves as we actually are.
It also distracts us from where we should look to find our confidence, namely inside ourselves. There, within, is our best resource and our point of reference. Our outer world and all our activity is nourished by our inner vision and this anchors us whenever we find ourselves in rough waters. Few have expressed this better than Rilke in this passage. Even though he is referring here to the poetic process, the same deep sources are what we nourish in our practice and they are what gives balance and energy to our lives.
You ask whether your verses are any good. You ask me. You have asked others before this. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are upset when certain editors reject your work. Now (since you have said you want my advice) I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you – no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must”, then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.
Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
