Last night’s sitting was filled with quiet birdsong and the shimmy of a thread of incense smoke. It rose and swerved and spilled into the air all around.
I could have stayed for hours.
Then working today on a translation I come across Rilke and « the interior space of the world » that had been revealed to him during what he called his « Capri experience: »
« …the call of a bird did not, so to speak, break off at the edge of his body, but was simultaneously outside and in his innermost being, uniting both into one uninterrupted space in which, mysteriously protected, only one single place of purest, deepest consciousness remained. On that occasion he had closed his eyes, so that he might not be confused, in so generous an experience, by the outline of his body, and the Infinite passed into him from all sides, so intimately that he believed he could feel the stars which had in the meantime appeared, gently reposing within his breast. »