and this is the world in the form of a map mountains are knuckles and nations are blotches of failed pigment and this is my skin and that is where rivers run * I really do forget the drawings, and the poems. I call this a blessing — to be surprised, upon finding them later, and to feel almost as if they were done by someone else, as, in a […]
Is there anything better for children than being outside, off of the pavement, and away from all forms of electronics? Is there anything better for adults? Is there anything better than dirty hands and dirty feet that have been made that way by several hours of willing contact with the soil? Is there anything better than absorbing the sights, sounds, and scents in the mountains, at the beach, or beside […]
Not once has the earth lied to us, or deserted us, yet see how we treat her. Hummingbird, bluebird, mourning dove, crow. Wise, the still mountain. Where else to go? What else to know? . [ 1747 ]
To witness a miracle, spend a day, a few hours, or even a few minutes listening to your body. Be still. Don’t sit in judgment. There’s no need for words. Notice where it hurts. Notice where it doesn’t. Notice your heartbeat, and the rise and fall of your breath. Notice your digestion. And along with this noticing, notice too how everything is happening of its own accord. The body is […]
A picture of a mountain isn’t a mountain. So with a river, a flower, and those we hate and love. Memory, too, is a kind of picture, as are words. The word mountain isn’t a mountain. But to show each other our pictures, we climb mountains and mountains of words. The memory of something that happened isn’t the happening. Maybe that’s one reason we keep fighting wars. Genocide in books […]
We met a wee toddler with his parents on the canyon trail this morning. This afternoon, I saw the junco father with his recently hatched little ones. They were finding things to eat in the shade garden. The father flew up to the pine, landed on a branch just above me, and ticked a bit — it was just like old times. honey high on the mountain low in the […]
From the tips of its branches to the deepest, outermost extent of its roots, the cedar that planted itself within a few feet of our front window is as wild as a tree growing in an inaccessible canyon. This is something the sky knows and is always eager to tell. Nor is this truth questioned by squirrels, birds, insects, and worms, all of which are wild and wise in their […]
William Michaelian 