Resisting nothing — have you tried it? Sorrow, loss, sickness, pain, problems, ideas, even your own resistance. Joy and good fortune. Love, death, anonymity. At one time or another, you’ve resisted them all. And there they are still. What about now? Not to be rid of them, or to pick and to choose. But to find out, and see for yourself. . [ 1439 ]
Men seek wisdom, sunflower sprouts spring from the warming soil. * Rich or poor, for your own sake, ask yourself what you would do if money weren’t a concern. * Love is the sound the shovel makes. * Birch clock: the dead branch, the singing bird. * Cedar clock: the low branch, the rope swing. * Old or young, ask yourself what you would do if time weren’t a concern. […]
Soaked to the skin. Forty-eight degrees. Running in the rain and wind. Twice up the hill, the fir trees rocking, the street littered with petals and puff balls, branch bits, catkins, needles, and cones. Two and a half miles. Relaxed. Calm. When we say This is mine, we plant a flag in our hearts. I’ve lived almost sixty-six years, and have never seen peace follow the planting of any flag. […]
Grateful upon waking. Grateful at rest. Grateful with each step and each breath. Without gratitude, what would I be? I would be both victim and hero — an egotistical survivor of my own self-chosen, self-made suffering. . [ 1373 ]
A curious thing, and to me a beautiful thing, is how all of this life, and yet none of it, seems real. For me it’s a vivid, personal fiction, a novel, a poem. The days are a series of pages, full of lines and paragraphs connected by a common thread, and that thread is the familiar idea of myself, which I’ve been creating and imagining from moment to moment since […]
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 […]
Tiny towns and crossings on the west side of the river: Amity, Hopewell, Eola. Lincoln. Zena. Bethel. On this side: St. Louis, Brooks, Mt. Angel, Bethany. Churches. Barns. Cemeteries. Oaks, firs, winding roads that give way to gravel. Smoke from fireplaces and stoves. Deer. Wild blackberries. When was the last time I wanted something I didn’t really need? It must be the forthcoming Richard Wilbur translations of Molière. And the […]
Every breath is a call to the joy of consciousness. If I’m afraid of that consciousness coming to an end, or try to think of ways I can hold onto it forever, the joy immediately slips away. Joy then becomes just one more word in a numbing, distracting intellectual exercise in which I’m both martyr and hero. When that happens, the moment simply goes on without me. It doesn’t matter […]
A poem of so many lines going every which way,it becomes a drawing; A drawing of so few lines its breath gives way,to reveal a poem in hiding; A life thought mine sailing away,free of the binds I was tying. “A Poem, a Drawing, a Life”Recently Banned Literature, November 30, 2014 Canvas 479 November 26, 2014 . [ 1302 ]
day / life / saving / time November 7, 2021 . You, a Stone A quiet pool, and you, a stone, dropped in; Now, a leaf in the wind, changes everything. Recently Banned Literature, November 23, 2014 . [ 1281 ]
William Michaelian 