William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Gently Now

Bide with your pain, your discomfort, your illness, the way a dog does. Bide with your worry, your problem, your puzzle, your fear, your mood. Lick your paw, scratch behind your ear, then settle down and sit quietly. Whether it is for a moment or for an hour, sit forever, the way a dog does. Later, when it is time to stir, do whatever it is you need to do next — go to the bathroom, drink some water, eat a little something if you are hungry; fold the laundry, sweep the front step, write or answer a letter; get ready for work; be with your husband, your wife, your children, your elderly parents, your friend. Whatever you do, however you feel, bide. Do what you can; what you cannot do, do later, if it still needs to be done — because it is possible it did not really need doing at all, at least in the way in which you might have planned or envisioned it. To bide is to allow; ultimately you may learn to leave yourself out of the equation entirely, the way a dog does. Then you will be your own best friend. You will be accepting and nonjudgmental, the way a dog is.

October 16, 2021. Afternoon.


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Categories: New Poems & Pieces

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