We make our music, and play our way to dusk; when the mists gather, we seek the warm glow of the hearth. Late at night, one by one, the coals close their eyes. The train flies west. We hear it through our open window. No sleep. Only peace, flight, breath. Grandpa said he’d be right back. He was talking about the sun, I guess. ~ [ 2004 ]
There is the news, there is social media, and there is the real world. In the real world, in a so-called conservative area, one can attend a grandchild’s basketball game and scarcely see what some people desperately believe is a “white person.” The crowd of parents and grandparents are a beautiful mixture of ethnic backgrounds, of shades, colors, and features; and their children and grandchildren run back and forth and […]
Little boy in prayer, I see you playing there. Aye, to pray is to play — what else can I say? . Every night, I sleep on the floor at Grandma’s house. . Dear seagull in the wind, I’m a fish without a fin. . Autumn leaf — a child’s flag in the cold. . The Rambler, Numb. 20. Saturday, May 26, 1750. On affectation and hypocrisy. Such pageantry be […]
The rise and fall. Doomed to fail are nations founded on the belief that people can take what they want, and sell what doesn’t belong to them. Likewise, individual lives. Throw it away. Out of sight, out of mind? Or, out of sight, out of our minds? Thoreau’s journal, February 19, 1854. Many college text-books which were a weariness and a stumbling-block when studied, I have since read a little […]
A little purpose, a little play; the purpose is play, the play, purpose; until, finally, play is all there is; except it’s not final, until purpose has its say, which, of course, is not its way unless it’s in the mood; nonsense, true; without glue, without you, there would be no purpose anyway, even if I play so myself — which I do, I do, I do. . [ 1792 […]
When slip met shod, one barefoot, the other odd, they said, It’s come to this? one shake, the other nod, one dip, the other mod, as if awed were flawed and flip were bliss a kiss away from god, then, you guessed it, on they trod, one trip, the other plod. . [ 1760 ]
I wonder about purpose. Does the universe have a purpose? Does the sun? Do I? Or are we simply here, and here simply, spinning, gently, of this music, and burning bright? Isn’t this enough? Must I impose myself on this miracle and whittle it down to my size? Must I choose one thing or another and say, This is why I am here? Must I be that important? Can’t I […]
I’ve lived long enough to know that whatever I try to do is weakened by the effort. Whatever I try to say, is rendered less clear. I’ve learned that even before I begin, the doing and saying is already being done for me, and that by keeping breath in this body, life is allowing me to take part in a process as playful as it is timeless and profound. Life […]
While out running yesterday morning before dawn, and then again an hour or so later while doing some bending, stretching, and breathing exercises, I thought about what I was really doing. I was, in some small degree, lessening the distance between the life I’m living and the life I would have lived as a primitive, wandering, foraging human whose activities were devoted almost entirely to survival, a life in which […]
Like every expression of the infinite, we, as a species, are always changing. In a sense, we’re here without having arrived, and never will arrive. Versions of us give way to other versions, none better or worse, each seemingly complete, yet not quite fully itself. We exist in a miracle of variety and diversity that’s playful in its very essence, part of a universal game of mudpies, fairies, and make-believe. […]
William Michaelian 