An ecstasy of joy, whose immense tension sometimes dissolves into a stream of tears, and whose pace is sometimes like a storm and sometimes becomes slow; a state of being completely beside oneself, yet with the clearest consciousness of an infinite number of fine tremors and wave-like vibrations running down to the very toes; a depth of happiness, in which all that is painful and dark, does not act as a contradiction but as a necessary condition, a challenge, as a necessary colour within such an abundance of light; an instinct for rhythmic proportions, which spans extensive realms of form — the extension, the need for an all-encompassing rhythm ins almost a criterion for the power of inspiration, a kind of compensating counter-force against its pressure and tension. Continue reading →