It may sound childish, but I marvel at how many things are happening all at once, and that, somehow, they become one thing — a single grand movement, which may or may not have meaning or direction, but, rather, the quality of blossoming, or unfolding, seemingly in my presence. My own body, with its wondrous workings, is an immediate example; it’s also a symbol, because in it there are battles […]
I hope this note finds you well, and that you’ve been doing something today that you truly love, however simple or seemingly mundane — housework, for instance, which is what we’ve been doing, along with other pleasant chores, such as washing clothes and making bread. We ran before dawn, and we’ve both done a little reading. And I’ve spent a total of about five minutes looking at the computer, if […]
A warm, steady rain. Sirens half a mile away. A common sound these days. Doctor, I have pain. It’s fading now. To rain. ~ [ 2074 ]
Why spend a precious lifetime trying to be someone, trying to make a name while going it alone, when all you really need is to be unknown and be in tune? ~ [ 2071 ]
I run half a mile more. Sometimes I feel I can run forever. Then I realize I already have, and do, through the mountains, between the stars. I turn a few more pages, tho’ I’ve read all the books, and have been all the characters. And I write a few more words, in this, my present language, Tho’ I’ve already written them all, and said them all, and you’ve read […]
One thing I’ve learned is to not idealize the past. On the farm, for instance, in those later years before we moved to Oregon, I would eat a fresh lemon a few minutes after rising; then I’d have a small cup of coffee; then, depending on the time of year — our lemon tree was an ever-bearing variety — I’d either have breakfast, or I’d go outside to greet and […]
A great cry at the bottom of the hill. An owl: Are you here still? And up I go, knowing full well An answer would prove nothing at all. ~ [ 2040 ]
If whatever I write, or draw, or make, or do, is to be fresh and new, and not simply more of the same, however pleasant and comfortable that same may seem, must I not make sure that I am myself fresh and new? Must I not be my own peaceful revolution, and free of my usual thought pattern, with all its familiar repetition and redundancy? Must I not be willing […]
Though the canvas arrived five years after the poem, it was immediately obvious, to me, at least, that the two belong together. The message of both, if there is one, seems to be the same: be attentive; each day is a glory of its own. Survive. Live on. And if they bear no message, which is certainly possible, they still share the characteristics of weathered, well-lived poems. ~ [ 2016 […]
Down to every last grumble, every last ache and pain, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing. Every smile, every silence, every sigh; every kindness, every slight — all are mine to choose. So why should I pretend otherwise? Why should I pose? Why should I lie? . Stop saying, “The secret to happiness is . . .” There is no secret, only these nuthatches splashing in the […]
William Michaelian 
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