This is the sound of a man touched by God. (It's not summertime, I know, but I don't think something this good can wait until summer. Anyway, I think what he conjures up here is more a yearning for summer, for sun upon shoulders and face and hands.)
Rilke:
Interior of the hand. Sole that has come to walk only on feelings. That faces upward and in its mirror receives heavenly roads, which travel along themselves. That has learned to walk upon water when it scoops, that walks upon wells, transfiguring every path. That steps into other hands, changes those that are like it into a landscape: wanders and arrives within them, fills them with arrival.”
PS. There are other things going on over here: http://interiordialogues.tumblr.com/
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