musings of a melancholic: rilke

Showing posts with label rilke. Show all posts

The future: time's excuse
to frighten us; too vast
a project, too large a morsel
for the heart's mouth.
(Rilke)

Little Lady Scout:
It seems I have lost my feet, but MY GOODNESS you have found yours! Perhaps you will be a dancer, a swimmer, or a spasmodic tree-climber. You are kicking and squirming and wiggling all day, so it seems. I feel a vicariousness in your movement, for the future has me kicking as well. All things seem to be getting harder and harder, right down to the most simple tasks of getting out of bed or making dinner. We've done very little to get your room ready, though we do hope to remedy that soon.

In addition to relating to your movement, I can relate to the pressure you no doubt feel around your body as you grow. I have to remind myself to take deep breaths and to say positive things to myself.

My favorites:

Nothing is permanent.
You cannot be pregnant forever.
Birth will be beautiful.
There is no right way to do any of this.

I journaled the other day that I have this nagging voice telling me I am not doing pregnancy right. The bigger I get, the more confidence seems to leak from my eyeballs in the form of tears. I am not feeling awesome, I am not refraining from complaining, I am not eating as well as I should, I cannot seem to tap into the positive energy everyone else seems to feel about pregnancy, etc. etc. Then, quite cosmically, I stumbled onto a chapter in "Birthing From Within" called Losing It that specifically addressed that there is no one or ideal way to get a baby out. For some, actually LOSING it will produce exactly the environment and energy they need to birth. It's so strange to me that you won't even remember it.

I am not sure why I am telling you all this other than it's relevant to our body and I do believe you will be curious about it one day. It is also an important life-lesson - this being gentle with yourself. Neko Case satirically sang to me yesterday, "Don't make mistakes or be human." I suppose what's difficult here is knowing what is or isn't a mistake for us. The next lesson in parenting, no doubt. Your father wisely said to me that just because I had learned to cope with anxiety in other areas didn't necessarily mean I would be a pro at it in all areas.

I am so future-oriented. When I pull up at the grocery store, I am memorizing my list and remembering my totes. When I check out, I am plotting the route back to the car. When I start the engine, I already know which way I'll be leaving out of the parking lot. I am so incredibly anticipatory that I live almost never exactly in the moment. I read a journal entry last night that began with, "I know I am disappointing my future self by not writing more about pregnancy." I may have learned to live with the tendency to be disappointed in my daily self, but the notion of taking cautionary pains to keep a future self from being disappointed is so revealing to me. Who can we be but exactly who we are? If there were a wish granted me today, it would be that all notions of future planning and expectations be blinded and that for even one day, I could be in the now. Alas, as it stands, I am writing this, but anticipating tonight's plans. What I think must be the lesson here is that I must learn to accept myself in the now - the self that can never fully grasp the moment - and that in that acceptance and kindness for who I naturally am is where I might find the stillness I crave.

You've started hiccuping this week. I notice it in the mornings when I slowly rouse and remember you are there. I subconsciously rub my belly and feel these consistent flutters. You are head-down, which is great news. Before I used to feel only one movement, and now when I feel a kick to the ribs, I also feel a great pressure on my pelvis - you must be stretching out. You are roughly the weight of a pineapple and your taste buds are developed. The Midwife says either you are big for your age or I have a lot of extra amniotic fluid. I've had heart-palpitations and shortness of breath come on quite suddenly this week, which knocked me out for a good day. This was also, no doubt, an onset for the anxiety.

We received your first books this week from Aunt Erin and Uncle Adam - and GOOD ONE's too! I set them carefully on the bookshelf and imagined you making a huge mess of them. It's your right. Your dad, a few glasses of wine into the night, stopped me this week and said that he suddenly was very excited to have a baby, and that it felt very good to feel. Indeed, my child. Very good to feel indeed.

Now our lives are changing fast.

I hope that something pure can last.

(Arcade Fire)

Scout,
The world is so exquisite with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there's little good evidence. Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides.
-Sagan

(How do you like your new official nickname? It is, no doubt, one of millions to come). It's been a very cerebral week. I've spent time reading one of your father's heroes, Carl Sagan. I've also devoured Rilke, started a new work of fiction that is extremely (and delightfully) philosophical. I chatted with your Uncle Goat wherein we determined a new conclusion for the grand purpose of life. It's also been a relatively positive week regarding pregnancy and the general state of my mind. I am thankful for these times, for it is only after the release of pain that the flood of compassion overwhelms my spirit as I ponder those still in suffering.

Many people have a very clear vision for their lives. From a young age, their strengths and talents are apparent; they have parents who nurture and encourage this gift. I was one of these people. I always wanted to be a teacher. I pursued this dream with resolute determination for 15 years. This dream lasted only 3 years, and when I quit, I felt utterly and completely defeated as well as existentially lost. I had done what I assumed I was "made to do" and although several amazing relationships were born and I learned immense lessons about myself, it was now over. I had no future. Now, after recovering, I don't care to return to it, but I do crave that sense of purpose. Sparked by this conversation with Uncle Goat, I began to wonder if some people just are not born with a strong existential direction. Perhaps their answer to "what does it all mean" or "what are my biggest dreams" is something more subjective than "I want to be a lawyer" or "I want to be a professional musician." What if their answer is "I want to help people" or "I want to be a healthy person."

This notion stuck with me as I began to realize that I too have been searching for a purpose anew. My answer, for this time and place, simply is that I want to learn, learn, and learn some more. I want to assimilate as much about peoples, cultures, literature, science, writing, psychology, wine, cooking, technology, mothering, decor, movies, books, travel, fashion, and photography as I possibly can in one lifetime (it can also be helpful to remember that a purpose in life does not necessarily equate to a career in that particular area. Jobs are different than purposes, unless you are one of the lucky ones). Additionally, I want to learn other's opinions of the above, learn to listen better, learn to be less judgmental, learn to be kinder to myself, and learn to accept the moment. I've found a new purpose. I hope to employ this knowledge to counsel you come your existential crisis - to remind you that there are many visions and many paths any human can take. I don't want to sell you an American dream, "If you can dream it, you can do it" because that's just simply untrue. But I do want your dreams to be big, full of hope, and to help you find ways to achieve what your life on this beautiful planet has inspired you to pursue.

The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.
-Rilke

This week, I want to dive into a vat of mangos, eat 20 cakes, consume lots of candy, and gorge myself on breakfast sausage (randomly enough). I have been sleeping well (after some serious and comical arranging of pillows), and still enjoy my nightly bath with Epsom salts to ease the muscle tension in my back and legs. My yoga instructor recommended several poses for SI joint loosening, and she encouraged me to perform them daily as well as to be sure and move every 45 minutes. What a difference! I wake up, have my cereal, stretch for a few minutes, and begin my day. My body seems to be screaming, THANK YOU! It feels euphoric to be out of pain, even if it doesn't last long. We've also been trying to walk more, since the weather is glorious and we live so close to Greenlake. You are moving SO much throughout the day. You seem to enjoy post-meal workouts, and I am beginning to adjust to the sensations (which once felt disgusting. Pregnancy in general is pretty disgusting to me, so it's nice to have graduated beyond that feeling).

This week, I said to Joel , "Oh man, our girl's gonna be so cute." He looked at me knowingly with a hint of "what have I done" in his eyes and said with resignation, "I know. I know." We are in for it.

It's been "all Bowie all the time" since Saturday. I hope you know how much he loves you.

Oh you pretty things
don't you know your driving
your mamas and papas insane.
-David Bowie

I saw your eyes in a dream last night. My goodness they were clear as glass. Who are you, sweet star?

Love,
The Voice

The doctors tell us to prepare for the end, but my being fights it still. I chide myself heavily for denial. I berate my desire to swoop in and save her. I sit uncomfortably in moments of guilt where I forget that anything is wrong.

The only truth I cling to is that there is no correct way to grieve. There is no manual for death, no perfect thing to say to the family, and no ideal way to endure. We are as we are. We survive, we compartmentalize, we create coping mechanisms, we lash out, we drink too much, we don't sleep enough, we find faith, we lose faith. No analysis, no questions, no higher road to travel.

We just have to be.
Red.
Mooney.
Madame.
Saint.

As I stare at the kitchen window,
looking at nothing and everything.
Suddenly, I realize how perfect the flowers are.
How fragrant the wind is.
And how all is a gift to help us endure
the unthinkable.

I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone
Rainier Maria Rilke

I am too alone in the world, and not alone enough
to make every minute holy.
I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough
just to lie before you like a thing,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will, and I want simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action,
and in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
I want to be a mirror for your whole body,
and I never want to be blind, or to be too old
to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.
I want to unfold.
I don't want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
And I want my grasp of things
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at
closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that took me safely
through the wildest storm of all.

There were some serious eats and drinks.

There was plenty of animalia-phila.

There may have been a few goofy moments

Alas, dear readers, there were small beauties in abundance.

I am deeply refreshed and reminded yet again of the danger in taking your good friendships for granted. I am especially lucky in this one.

I return from times with Kelly rife with inspiration for artistic living. I've been ruminating on my plan as a writer and wishing the world would take me seriously as an artist. The thing is, why would anyone else see me this way if I don't? Self, it's time to tighten those belts and work at what you love. More to come on this later. For now, I wanted to leave you with a few words from Rilke that have rocked both Kelly and I with passion and clarity:

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.

:: Rilke "Letters to a Young Poet" ::

I wish I could come visit you all. I'd post an obnoxious amount of pictures, I promise.