Rilke un totēms . . .
Her vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary
that it cannot hold anything else.
It seems to her there are a thousand bars; and behind the bars,
no world.
As she paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of her
powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which
a mighty will stands paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly----.
An image enters in, rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.

Rainer Maria Rilke