I raised the toilet lid this morning and found a spider treading water. Apparently it had just fallen in. I rolled up a small piece of paper, which it quickly climbed onto, took it outside, and let it climb off onto our front step. It wasn’t too large — maybe half an inch across, including its legs. It probably rode into the house on my hair, as I run into […]
I wonder about purpose. Does the universe have a purpose? Does the sun? Do I? Or are we simply here, and here simply, spinning, gently, of this music, and burning bright? Isn’t this enough? Must I impose myself on this miracle and whittle it down to my size? Must I choose one thing or another and say, This is why I am here? Must I be that important? Can’t I […]
With the morning light streaming in through the front window, it strikes me that if I can recognize and let go of even one dull-minded, habitual response a day, I’ll eventually become so vital and attentive that if anyone notices, they won’t know what they’re noticing, and yet they’ll be glad. It will be a revolution, quiet, flagless, and bloodless, with no leaders or followers, and nothing to cling to […]
It would be wrong to characterize my childhood as anything but enchanted. To do so may seem like a combination of denial and choice, but my memory of those days is clear enough that I still feel it’s true. And while I don’t remember what happened between each individual memory, I clearly recall the daily rhythm and atmosphere, my awareness of the passing seasons, flowers blooming around the house, the […]
The song in his heart was stuck in his throat. And the attending doctor said to himself, I must be sure not to die this way. . [ 1672 ]
When the fig leaves fell, they were bright and deep beneath the tree. Now their color has seeped into the ground, and the grass is growing up through me. It’s a fine time. A rhyme time. A time like every other time I see. No time. Flow time. Rain time. Snow time. Free. . [ 1656 ]
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 ]
this life’s a child’s balloon / you never know / when she’ll let go . [ 1619 ]
Letting go the precious image of oneself — the habit, the mask, the careworn cloak — isn’t this the fear of death? And if it is, why not let go now and be completely free, like the wind that blows and snow that falls? In life and deed — why not be a wise old child? . [ 1609 ]
William Michaelian 