My junior year in college, I stumbled upon a poem entitled "I Am Too Alone in the World, Yet Not Alone" by Rainer Maria Rilke. The poem lay slightly unfolded on a copy shop counter, ripe for wandering eyes. While I waited for my order to be complete, I stared at it relentlessly. Hoping for discretion, I repositioned myself multiple times, but eventually, I lost interest in masking my indulgence, setting my eyes squarely before the words, taking them in over and over again.
When the copy shop owner returned, he caught me tilting sideways, awe-struck as I digested Rilke's secret desires.
"You can take that with you," he said, startling me. "It's been sitting there all day; I don't think anyone is coming back."
I reached for it slowly, as if he offered an antique necklace or a $100 bill.
"Thank you," I replied, turning to leave, nearly forgetting my order.
"Excuse me," the owner said, raising his voice a little as I reached to open the door. I spun back around when I heard him, and saw the stack of papers I came to retrieve balanced evenly in his hands. Chuckling out of embarrassment, I returned to the counter, reached for the sack and thanked him, but once my fingers clutched the bag, I couldn't help but notice I wasn't holding on to it as tightly as I was holding the poem.
I don't recall anything about the weather or the walk that day, nor do I recall what I came to duplicate. All I recall is traipsing across campus wishing I, too, could unfold. For nowhere did I "...wish to stay crooked, bent;/for there I would be dishonest, untrue./I want[ed] my conscience to be true before [the world];/ want[ed] to describe myself like a picture I observed/for a long time, one close up,/like a new word I learned and embraced,/ like the everyday jug,/like my mother's face,/like a ship that carried me along/through the deadliest storm."
This blog is my humble effort to do that, my effort to slice myself open and explore what spills out. I hope you'll join me in my journey. My fingers will punch the keys every Wednesday, but you're welcome to stop by anytime.
When the copy shop owner returned, he caught me tilting sideways, awe-struck as I digested Rilke's secret desires.
"You can take that with you," he said, startling me. "It's been sitting there all day; I don't think anyone is coming back."
I reached for it slowly, as if he offered an antique necklace or a $100 bill.
"Thank you," I replied, turning to leave, nearly forgetting my order.
"Excuse me," the owner said, raising his voice a little as I reached to open the door. I spun back around when I heard him, and saw the stack of papers I came to retrieve balanced evenly in his hands. Chuckling out of embarrassment, I returned to the counter, reached for the sack and thanked him, but once my fingers clutched the bag, I couldn't help but notice I wasn't holding on to it as tightly as I was holding the poem.
I don't recall anything about the weather or the walk that day, nor do I recall what I came to duplicate. All I recall is traipsing across campus wishing I, too, could unfold. For nowhere did I "...wish to stay crooked, bent;/for there I would be dishonest, untrue./I want[ed] my conscience to be true before [the world];/ want[ed] to describe myself like a picture I observed/for a long time, one close up,/like a new word I learned and embraced,/ like the everyday jug,/like my mother's face,/like a ship that carried me along/through the deadliest storm."
This blog is my humble effort to do that, my effort to slice myself open and explore what spills out. I hope you'll join me in my journey. My fingers will punch the keys every Wednesday, but you're welcome to stop by anytime.
I once maintained a blog on Blogger. For those of you who would like to read some of my older posts, please feel free to click on the link below to explore the archives.