William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Meditation’

Should More Be Granted

Afternoon. Another day, another used bookstore. Don Quixote: Ozell’s Revision of the Translation by Peter Motteux. Introduction by Herschel Brickell, written in 1930 and revised in 1938. The Modern Library, New York. Contains illustrations. The Poetical Works of Mrs. Felicia Hemans. Prefatory Notice by William Michael Rossetti. Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., New York, circa 1900. The Complete Notebooks of Henry James: The Authoritative and Definitive Edition. Edited with introductions […]

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Blood to the Toes

The sunflowers aren’t quite to the skeletal stage, but with the frost upon them, their flesh is rapidly melting away. The birds still come, the scrub jays, nuthatches, and finches. It’s a talkative town, but in stark, fleet moments there’s a blackening sense of the approaching end of conversation, and of new beginnings that must wait their turn in the ground. . If I’m discovered to be mad, what of […]

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Chores, Secrets, Memory

A quiet, meditative morning, passed mostly tending to household chores. Afternoon. A walk in the sun. On his hands and knees, the almost-eighty-seven-year-old woodcutter was pulling his neighbor’s weeds. . The Rambler, Numb. 14. Tuesday, May 1, 1750. Secrets — to tell, or not to tell. The rules therefore that I shall propose concerning secrecy, and from which I think it not safe to deviate, without long and exact deliberation, […]

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Back to the Garden

Meditation, enlightenment, reality, truth, self-realization — aren’t such concepts poor, even desperate, substitutes for living our lives as nature intended? I don’t mean this in a critical sense. Piled up in buildings, trapped on freeways, smothered in cosmetics, drugged, poisoned, plugged in, wired, overfed, under-exercised, devoid of basic survival skills, strangers to each other and the environment — we thwart our instincts at every turn. But they can’t be overridden […]

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A Small Leap

As the mind and body are connected by the breath, all three are connected to the stars, because in that awareness, everything is present, everything is here. Or, not the stars, if they seem too far — a loved one, a pet, the trees, the flowers. . [ 1715 ]

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Coda

My heartbeat, the wind in the trees, the sounds of the squirrels and birds, the sigh of traffic on Interstate 5, the ringing in my ears, the kettle on to boil, the flushing of the toilet, voices in the street — these, along with every whisper within and beyond, are the music of my life. They’re my silence, too. How easily, effortlessly, they will end. . [ 1634 ]

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Running Meditation

I’m still running early in the morning. It’s nice to be out when it’s dark, with little or no traffic. Gradually, according to the body’s suggestions and requests, I’m opening my stride and increasing my pace, adding to the distance I cover and the time I spend out. My heart and lungs respond willingly and gratefully to the pleasant demand, as do my feet, my legs, and the rest of […]

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