From "Letters to a Young Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke

"The necessary thing is after all but this: solitude, great inner solitude.  Going-into-oneself and for hours meeting no one - this one must be able to attain.  To be solitary, the way one was solitary as a child, when the grownups went around involved with things that seemed important and big because they themselves looked so busy and because one comprehended nothing of their doings.
"And when one day one perceives that their occupations are paltry, their professions petrified and no longer linked with living, why not then continue to look like a child upon it all as upon something unfamiliar, from out of the depth of one's own world, out of the expanse of one's own solitude, which is itself work and status and vocation?  Why want to exchange a child's wise incomprehension for defensiveness and disdain, since incomprehension is after all being alone, while defensiveness and disdain are a sharing in that from which one wants by these means to keep apart."

The Table

I have missed You again today.  Amidst me trying to be Your hero.  I have missed knowing that it is me and You.  All I've known is an us, and feeling as if I bring nothing to the table - table of community leaning on our one-legged humanity, feeling strong and communal, and I think I could turn over this table.  Everyone thinks they have to bring something to it.  I'd watch as all the somethings fly in the air, tumble to the ground, and splatter blood - life and effort.  Why do we put this into these things - very living and life?