“Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final”
It was drizzling and cold very early this morning, when I walked to work. I didn’t bother getting an umbrella. It is always so windy around my apartment that umbrellas are useless.
I love, love this cool weather, changing into colder and colder, and then soon snow.
I love the kind of days that some people call ugly: the rainy, cold, and dark days. The best is to wake up to a day that is so dark, it is hard to tell if it is day or night. I love the way it hits me. It makes me feel alive. It feels poetic.
I once told somebody that, and he said jokingly: “What is wrong with you? You should be a vampire.” Well, I had also told him that if were not for my sister and my plants I would never open my curtains.
I love the sun, but I think there is a certain comfort and coziness in dark spaces. It is soothing. It embraces you like the welcoming arms of a lover.
It is now hours later, sunny and warm. I am grateful for this Friday. Nature is beautiful, sunny or cloudy, rain or shine, day or night.
I am feeling inspired and Rilke came to mind. The writing below is from “Letters to a Young Poet”. I believe there is a young poet inside each one of us. Sometimes the medium used is not words, but any art can be poetic.
From the poet inside of me to the poet inside of you:
“Describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty – describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember.
If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds – wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attentions to it.
Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. – And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Nor will you try to interest magazines in these works: for you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it. A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke