What it comes down to, I suppose, is that most, if not all, of my behavior is neurotic. How could it be otherwise? I’m assaulted by the news of killings every day, of mass shootings and war; I’m exposed to incessant, unscrupulous advertising, noise, and to flashing, brightly lit screens; outdoors, I walk on concrete and asphalt, indoors on artificial flooring; I drive a car; I harvest most of my […]
Ninety-seven percent humidity, the stars dim through the smoky, post-apocalyptic haze. The body says wait. . I ran this morning two hours later than usual, after eating, instead of before. Much to my surprise, the world didn’t end. Then again, it might already have ended, and my run might have been a dream. Dreaming after the world ends — yes, maybe that’s what living is really about. Oats, spelt, barley, […]
War is never there, it’s always here. There’s no such thing as murder in the third person. Like you, I tried. Very hard. Too hard. Now I don’t try at all. But you need not believe any of it. You’re free to think that you and I are trying now. Corn on the cob is something we have only when it’s ripe locally in the fall. I usually slice it […]
We share the sun, the moon, the stars, the grief, the joy, the wars; is it any wonder, is it kind or wise, to pray for less and beg for more? . [ 1795 ]
No one taught my father to swim. He jumped into the ditch and started paddling. A depression, a lifetime, a war, a family later, he climbed out of the water and waved from the bank on the other side. He waved and he waved, and faded to shade, in the flesh with the fish, a splash and a wish, a breeze, the sky, a door. And then we couldn’t see […]
Was I awake, or asleep? Was I there, or somewhere else? Banish the word or and the answer is clear: there need be no answer. That, in its own simple, strange way, is the story of my life. My grandfather, emerging from the sycamore shade on the south end of his house, barefoot and carrying a shotgun in one hand and the bloody remains of a robin in the other, […]
What grew in me without my knowing, what crept stealthily into my burgeoning little boy’s identity and went unrecognized for years, was a keen sense of competition. The expectation, need, and desire to be the best was administered in tiny doses without their knowing by family, friends, acquaintances, and teachers. The best reader, the best speller, the best runner, the best at throwing or kicking a ball — the process […]
More than fifty years later, I still think about the sparrow I shot and killed when I was a boy, and how, in one brutal, life-changing instant, it fell from our walnut tree and landed on the ground. Even now, I remember its tightly shut eyes and colorful feathers, which from a distance had seemed drab and gray, and the little grave I dug and placed it in. Thank goodness […]
Every newborn is a perfect gift to the world. That fact doesn’t change, even when we believe and act otherwise. Someday, when all children grow up knowing they’re a perfect gift to the world, there will be no more war. There will be no culture of greed, anger, and retaliation, and no need to prove who’s stronger. There will be universal acceptance, cooperation, and gratitude for each other’s unique insights […]
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 […]
William Michaelian 