In this crazy, desperate, beautiful game we play of human words and contructs, one thing I’ve learned is that I can’t feel gratitude for something and cling to it at the same time. Gratitude disappears the moment there’s a fear of loss. It might be the relative security of having a little money in the bank, it might be health, it might be ability, memory, or knowledge; it might be […]
A fine school of words, and the fishermen asleep at their nets. . [ 1668 ]
A falling star — a petal bright, from the flower. * Some books I leave open, so that during daylight hours, I can read a few lines from them in passing. Diaries, journals, letters, poetry, too — and it’s all poetry, beginning with the light coming in through the window. Or call it pollen, or honey, because the words coat the wings, and sweeten the tongue. * How many things […]
What do they mean? Do you ever ask the words themselves? Or do you expect them to do as you tell them? If they were your children, would you demand their rigid compliance, or would you give them the freedom and space they need to blossom? Your answer reveals the kind if writer, speaker, thinker, dreamer you are. If you’re sure the words you use are at your command, then […]
Chasing words around the page, one lures me to the edge, says, Jump! . [ 1631 ]
What trouble, illness, pain, or difficulty isn’t worsened, magnified, intensified, by thought? Your next image, word, sentence, paragraph — can you replace it with a thought-free breath? . [ 1622 ]
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 […]
Tree, bird, rock, child — if things were their names, Life wouldn’t be a happening, it would be an encyclopedia. . [ 1567 ]
We meet each other in different languages, even when we write and speak the same. What we read and say and hear, is who we are and who we’ve been. What we mean, or what we think or hope we mean, matters less than listening, with love. . [ 1562 ]
Each act a kindness, each breath a prayer, Each word a poem that finds us there. . [ 1560 ]
William Michaelian 