Reading Rilke During Morning Subway Rides
I've been spending a lot of time with Rilke on the subway. I acquired "A Year With Rilke," 366 different writings, each indexed by a different day of the calendar.
Some of those writings I've committed to memory. "The Dark Hours," and "In the Traffic of our Days."
Rilke is a deeply spiritual writer, and opening to a different page each day takes you far afield.
"I love the dark hours of my being,
my mind deepens into them,
there I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life already lived
and held up like a legend, and understood.
Then the knowing comes. I can open to another life that's wide and timeless."
There are writings about love, about the process of writing itself ("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.")
Each day, another piece of Rilke:
"In the traffic of our days
May we attend to all things
So that patterns may be revealed
Amid the offerings of chance."
You couldn't do worse than read Rilke, especially during a quiet morning commute.