William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Identity’

A New Light

If it’s important to remember our childhood darkness, trauma, or pain, then it’s even more important to remember our joy, because joy is our natural state, the original spirit and foundation of our very existence. If we cling to our pain, that pain becomes our identity. If our pain seems a greater, more powerful force than joy, then we need to work harder at remembering our own joy, however small […]

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The Best of the Best

What grew in me without my knowing, what crept stealthily into my burgeoning little boy’s identity and went unrecognized for years, was a keen sense of competition. The expectation, need, and desire to be the best was administered in tiny doses without their knowing by family, friends, acquaintances, and teachers. The best reader, the best speller, the best runner, the best at throwing or kicking a ball — the process […]

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Hey, Universe

In me is a little something of everyone who ever lived. Deep in the code, I’ve been through it all. The universe, too, is in my flesh, blood, and bones. That means I’m part of the greatest, most efficient recycling project ever known. As such, I’ve learned not to cling to the idea of being who I am, or who others think I am, or to worry about what will […]

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When We Ripen

If ours isn’t a true friendship, maybe it’s because we aren’t really listening to each other. * From Emerson’s journal, 1869: In the heavy storm I heard the cathedral bells squeaking like pigs through the snout. * Time and energy given to hurt feelings is time and energy taken from feeling compassion for the person you think has hurt them — the result being, there are two feeling hurt instead […]

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Scratches

Sometimes I look at the last scratch and think this is no way to end, and then I scratch, and scratch, and scratch again. Sometimes I look and think this is the perfect way to end, and then I scratch, and scratch, and scratch again. Sometimes I look and I do end, only to find myself scratching again. And then I look at them. I look at them, and think […]

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Wise Old Child

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 ]

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