I love in-seeing. Can you imagine with me how glorious it is to in-see a dog, for example, as you pass it? By in-see I don't mean to look through, which is only a kind of human gymnastic that lets you immediately come out again, on the other side of the dog, regarding it merely, so to speak, as a window upon the human world lying beyond it: not that; what I mean is to let yourself precisely into the dog's center, the point from which it begins to be a dog, the place in it God, as it were, would have sat down for a moment when the dog was finished, in order to watch it during its first embarrassments and inspirations and to nod that it was good, that nothing was lacking, that it couldn't have been better made. For a while you can endure being inside the dog; you just have to be alert and jump out in time, before its environment has completely enclosed you, since otherwise you would simply remain the dog in the dog and be lost for everything else. Though you may laugh, dear confidant, if I tell you where my very greatest feeling, my world-feeling, my earthly bliss was, I must confess to you: it was, again and again, here and there, in such in-seeing in the indescribably swift, deep, timeless moments of this godlike in-seeing.
--Rainer Maria Rilke