If you believe what I believe, you’ll inherit a long series of misunderstandings. Some of these misunderstandings were handed down, others I conjured alone. If you believe what I believe, you’ll believe that you believe nothing — Or that you’ve risen above belief, like the sun on a cold winter morning. But beware, because soon there will be clouds, and you’ll believe in them too. Behold a flight of geese […]
You can look at this canvas for half an hour and see little or nothing. Or you can surrender to it and see everything, and imagine even more. It depends on how hustled and harried you are, how busy, how important, how judgmental, how sure, how willing to be open or blind. What you do and what you see will be the result of your own vision and experience. It […]
Well, I’ll put them somewhere. Then I’ll move about among them, admire them as I pass, and take them every now and then from their shelf or stack. I’ll read a few lines at random; I’ll marvel at how they’re made, and feel their weight in my hands. For now, though, they’re still on my desk. Melville, as it turns out, is rather perfumey — something I didn’t notice at […]
I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. — Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam. . Ideally we will hold no opinion, and therefore have none to defend. For what’s an opinion but one more way of living in, and clinging to, the past? We may believe nothing has changed since we arrived at the […]
A genuine fall rain, windless, steady, straight down. Sixty degrees. Feet and legs wet from walking at a leisurely pace through a large commercial parking lot. Sandals and puddles. Let us practice nonavoidance, and proclaim it our beliefless, faithless faith. On the front sidewalk, met with a wet, stubborn bee. Old Books. Brief prefatory note by Robert Wiedeman Barrett “Pen” Browning (here signed R.B.B.). The Letters of Robert Browning and […]
Like every expression of the infinite, we, as a species, are always changing. In a sense, we’re here without having arrived, and never will arrive. Versions of us give way to other versions, none better or worse, each seemingly complete, yet not quite fully itself. We exist in a miracle of variety and diversity that’s playful in its very essence, part of a universal game of mudpies, fairies, and make-believe. […]
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 […]
Can I be so free of belief that I’m surprised by the sunrise? Or, should I say, by the smile in your eyes? . [ 1653 ]
There’s no need to prove my worth. Life has already done so by bringing me here. Proof — according to whose set of rules? according to which belief or philosophy? compared with which saint, hero, or lunatic, widely or privately known? When I’m grateful — truly grateful — don’t I already give joy to the world? . [ 1630 ]
Adhere to the ancient text, and be haunted by symbols. Set it aside, look in and around you, see the hand that is writing still. . [ 1601 ]
William Michaelian 