Saturday, March 20, 2004

Advice

"Read as little as possible of literary criticism - such things are either partisan opinions, which have become petrified and meaningless, hardened and empty of life, or else they are just clever word-games, in which one view wins today, and tomorrow the opposite view. Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism. Only love can touch and hold them and be fair to them. - Always trust yourself and your own feeling, as opposed to argumentations, discussions, or introductions of that sort; if it turns out that you are wrong, then the natural growth of your inner life will eventually guide you to other insights. Allow your judgments their own silent, undisturbed development, which, like all progress, must come from deep within and cannot be forced or hastened. Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist: in understanding as in creating.

In this there is no measuring with time, a year doesn't matter, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn't force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly silent and vast. I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!"

-Ranier Maria Rilke

Friday, March 19, 2004

Someday

I'll post something again. Someday.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Pristine

The nearest town was a few hours back, and our final destination was a few hours ahead. They had warned us about altitude sickness in Lima earlier that day, that we shouldn’t try and do too much at first, and this particular point, we were told, was sixteen-thousand feet. But there was something about the rich hue of the blue water that filled my sleepy traveler's body with energy and had me running with almost a complete disregard for thin air. I realized quickly, chest burning, what a difference altitude makes.

It dawned on me that the water was so incredibly blue because nothing had ever been put in it. I was overwhelmed by the purity of the location and stood for a while, hands behind my head, hoping to capture the scene forever in a panoramic memory of beauty and awe. I wondered at how many untouched places there might be across the globe, and whether or not they would stay that way. And for a moment, in a very small way, I understood what it meant for the Maker to look over His creation and see that it was good.

Monday, March 01, 2004

Farewell, good jacket. Please stay away.

I haven't felt this awake all day. I've never been more excited for Spring. This year it has promise, mystery--distinct character--and I will do my best to sop it up entirely. Right now, more than anything, I want something to do, someone to see--activities to capture every ounce of beauty and life available in between now and dawn.

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