Should I Say
I’ve been like this since birth / or should I say dawn? . [ 1844 ]
Rest in Peace — I’ve no fondness for the saying. It would make far better sense, when babies are born, To say, Live in Peace, and to conduct ourselves In such a way that the rest will be assured. . [ 1808 ]
I don’t need a name, but I’m not bothered by having one. Having a name doesn’t change or threaten my essential anonymity. Being no one, being everything and everyone, is my natural state. It’s the inevitable consequence of having been born. Before that, and after, is what stars are for. . [ 1806 ]
O, to read our autobiographies to the end, and arrive at our original perfection! . [ 1802 ]
A robin is building a nest in the rhododendron just outside the window of the little bedroom at the end of the hall. I was on the floor stretched out on my back for an after-lunch rest when her movement caught my eye. If she follows through and all goes well, we’ll be able to watch as a new family of robins comes into being. The plant isn’t a dense […]
Every newborn is a perfect gift to the world. That fact doesn’t change, even when we believe and act otherwise. Someday, when all children grow up knowing they’re a perfect gift to the world, there will be no more war. There will be no culture of greed, anger, and retaliation, and no need to prove who’s stronger. There will be universal acceptance, cooperation, and gratitude for each other’s unique insights […]
Warm, cloudy, humid. Fires east, fires south. And here I am, recognizing once again the sheer luxury it is to be able, for so long, to pursue my tiny line of thinking — to read my books, to write my notes and poems and then pretend them to the world — for pretending and publishing are much alike — tho’ the mask I wear is nearly identical to what it’s […]
Hot days and warm nights. But it’s all relative. We used to call these temperatures cool in the San Joaquin Valley. Still, one hundred is one hundred, and seventy is seventy — just as my name is what’s stated on my birth certificate, and on all of my other “important papers,” the electronic ones included. In other words, it is, and it isn’t. Or, to frame it as a question: […]
Thirty-seven degrees. A snow sky. Vegetable plants in the garden shops. The heart leaps, a bird peeps, returns to its fir needle bed. I wish I had written that. And the life that led to it? Do you wish you had lived that as well? A fondness for quoting Jesus — but crucifixion is something else. A crown of thorns. Nails through the palms. Snow in April? Isn’t that unusual? […]
Also in today’s news: your birth, your death, your breath, your joy. . [ 1385 ]