Introduction--A Few Thoughts

Hello All--

First, and most importantly, I hope that this note finds you well and enjoying the liberating freedom and relaxation that comes with summer vacation. I am sorry that I have not posted anything sooner, but I have been living the quiet life in Wyoming-working with my hands, living with the land instead of laboring at a computer, staring at a screen.

Let me begin by saying that this blog is designed for us to practice self-cultivation. Posting your thoughts on Rilke is encouraged by not required. I share this space with you because I have found that reflecting upon what I have read helps me more fully metabolize the essential ideas of a text and allows me to understand them on a more personal, intimate, level. Your posts do not have to be well-wrought 5 paragraph essays that open with a thesis, implore textual support, and answer the question fully.

INSTEAD, I would encourage you to let your writing wander and to see where the process of thoughtful reflection takes you--simply, write what you feel, probe what you are curious about, and examine what you do and do not know. Below is an idea I have been thinking about while reading, and I offer it to you in the hope that it will be the catalyst for our growth and a fruitful discussion, I will surely learn from.

Thought No.1--Franz Xaver Kappus' Introduction

Discussing his reasons for writing, and seeking the advice of Rilke, Kappus says: "Not yet twenty, and close on the threshold of a profession which I felt to be entirely contrary to my inclinations, I hoped to find understanding...And without having intended to do so at all, I found myself writing a covering letter in which I unreservedly laid bare my heart as never before and never since to any second human being."

I have been thinking deeply about this declaration and wondering: why is it so hard for us as individuals, friends, students, etc. to ask for help? Why is it sometimes easier to reach out, 'lay bare our hearts,' to strangers; why do we hide things that mean the most to us from those people we are closest to?

Perhaps, we are fearful, timid when it comes to seeking out advice, because the answers that might be given could lead to the painful process of self-cultivation (personal growth). However, no matter the individual case, the practice self-cultivation is a process that we cannot undertake alone; instead, it is a mode of development that requires us to find a guide, a teacher, and maybe this is the role Rilke assumes in the life of the young Kappus.

Perhaps the greatest teacher and guide that history has known is Socrates. In a conversation with a young student he says: "Do you intend to remain in your present condition, or practice some self-cultivation? . . . . I’m right in saying that we stand in need of self-cultivation. Actually, every human being needs self-cultivation, but especially the two of us.”

I believe that asking, thinking about, and answering questions is a form of self-cultivation that uses the primary tool of the written word. I believe, like Socrates, that every human being needs self-cultivation, but especially the two of us. So, as a result, I ask--what are the things you want to better understand in your own life? Who are the people that can help guide you in better understanding these things? Is it possible to find true understanding, peace of mind, and happiness without a guide--can we live a truly successful life if we travel alone, solo?

I do not know the answer to any of these questions, and I am hoping that your words will help guide and teach me.
Until next time--here is to happy reading and illuminating writing,
AK

Sharing Words

The first offering. Yesterday, one of my teachers passed this poem on to me; he said he stumbled upon it by 'accident.' A beautiful accident for us given our experiment of reading Rilke together this summer.

The Reader
--Rainer Maria Rilke

Who knows him, this one, whose own face
sinks away out of its being into a second one,
that only the quick turning of whole pages
sometimes forcibly interrupts?

Even his own mother would be uncertain
if that were him, who, together with his shadow,
was drenched with reading. And we, hours to spare,
what do we know, how much he fades away, until,

in fatigue, he stops: raising up everything
into himself which has happened in the book below,
with eyes, which, instead of taking, nudge up
against the full and finished world as they give:
like quiet children, who, playing alone,
suddenly experience that which is at hand;
and yet his features, ordered as they were,
remain now forever rearranged.