William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

The Rabbit Hole

In this crazy, desperate, beautiful game we play of human words and contructs, one thing I’ve learned is that I can’t feel gratitude for something and cling to it at the same time. Gratitude disappears the moment there’s a fear of loss. It might be the relative security of having a little money in the bank, it might be health, it might be ability, memory, or knowledge; it might be life itself. For me, it’s not possible to feel gratitude for being alive while entertaining a fear of death. It’s either one or the other. The same goes for feelings of resentment, anger, superiority, inferiority — the list is long, and, at one time or another, I’ve felt them all. As I said, it’s a crazy, desperate game we play. It’s crazy and desperate because, as a species, we’ve come to believe, and to believe in, the stories we’ve told. We believe, for instance, in the gods we create, or in the idea that there’s such a thing as time; we believe in nations and borders; we believe in politics; we believe in money; we believe in heaven and hell. Vast numbers of us are content not to question these things, and are even willing to kill for them, and to destroy the environment, all the while remaining blind to the gift we’ve been given. As a result, we fear losing what we mistakenly think belongs to us. Instead of sharing the gift, and being thankful we’re able to do so, we drive others into the street. We’ve gone that far down the rabbit hole. Gratitude disappears the moment there’s a fear of loss. And when gratitude is gone, we have nothing — nothing at all.


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Categories: Daybook

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