for no reason at all
Yesterday, I sat down to my morning quiet, this time with Rilke. For absolutely no discernable reason other than my increased melancholy of late, I fixated on this poem for 30 minutes. I don't mean that I performed my usual poetic analysis, which may include saying the poem aloud a few times, looking up various words, familiarizing myself with the cadence, and grappeling with the tone as I scribble notes in the margin. No, not this at all.
Instead, I stared at it.
I re-read it.
Then I stared some more.
Sometimes there are things in life that speak very clearly to me of their own distance. I am not supposed to delve into them, they are meant for me in that moment to be nothing other than a skimming of my soul-surface. I know this particular poem spoke to my depths, but it was almost as if my mind wasn't aware of it. Perhaps it was a meditative kind of trance in which to absorb poetry...whatever it was, I loved it.
Then at 9:00am, I went straight back to bed until 10:30am. My soul told me to do it.