When I start feeling at home I start baking bread. I start reading. Rereading first. Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet. Irish soda bread. I love the solitude of the Barcelona nights.
“What is necessary, after all, is only this: solitude, vast inner solitude. To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours - that is what you must be able to attain. To be solitary as you were when you were a child, when the grown-ups walked around involved with matters that seemed large and important because they looked so busy and because you didn’t understand a thing about what they were doing.”
“Only the individual who is solitary is placed under the deepest laws like a Thing, and when he walks out into the rising dawn or looks out into the event-filled evening and when he feels what is happening there, all situations drop from him as if from a dead man, though he stands in the midst of pure life.”
“Love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you.”