Deep in our ancient programming, we know how to be healthy and whole. But we believe in so much nonsense that we undermine ourselves, and are taken in by the ones sending the bill. Life wants us to be well — not just in mind and body, but in a universal way that intimately involves everything seen and unseen, every grain of sand, every drop of rain, every molecule and […]
The earliest joys, at least those that can be remembered, are most certainly tied to the soil, beginning with its warmth and smell, its texture, and its dense, composite makeup, which changes with every handful. I was drawn to it, as every child is who is fortunate to live where it has not all been ravaged and paved over, and I sought, and returned, its intimate contact. I can say […]
Children of the Precipice, it’s time for authenticity, not pose. * To heal a part, you must love the whole. * As a participant in this beautiful immensity, I don’t feel insignificant, I feel fortunate. With each breath, I’m as near as the apple and worm, and as far as the most distant star. We’re intimately related and uniformly blessed, part of the same miracle. . [ 1661 ]
Look at them. Some are so small, they seem only feathers and a heartbeat. And though we’re made differently, we’re made of the same things, and share the same breath. To me, this isn’t just poetry, religion, or science. It’s miraculous, inspiring, intimate. Thank goodness I don’t need to prove its significance, or tell you what it means. You already know we’re here to love each other, ourselves, and all […]
Of all the arts, love and friendship are the most intimate, because each person creates the other, and the experience leaves both transformed. . [ 1572 ]
Running through space, and with each breath the same space running through me, then becoming space again. The body passing through space, feeling space yield without breaking or being divided, fluid like water. Space clinging to the skin and entering through the pores. Space in the blood. Space in the cells. Space the distance between stars. Uphill and down, to stop at the door. Quietly, now, not to disturb. Space […]
I slept for a few minutes yesterday after lunch. When I awoke to the tender tips of the lacy green maple moving in the breeze, and the pine needles glistening in the light of the clear blue sky, and its swirl of upward-curved branches gently lowering and rising, I was nigh overwhelmed by the timeless, trembling, whispering intimacy of what was happening, not only outside, beyond the open window, but […]
The intimacy of the charcoal-green outlines of trees near dawn — grayer at a distance, greener in their fairy tale approach — these sisters and brothers, the dark redwoods and bare oaks, the wise owls of one’s thought. Lights on over breakfast tables. Still wind chimes, wondering which clothes to put on. I shall wear a sparrow. And another, The mist is enough. February 13, 2020 [ 665 ]
William Michaelian 