Saturday, November 12, 2011

We


Like everything I write and draw, I, too, am open to interpretation. And like you, I can only imagine, and can never quite be certain, what it is, if anything, that I withhold. And therein lies our strength and bond, which is not undone, even in its passing. Even if they remain unspoken, the disasters in our lives, the trials and despair, are all revealed in one way or another. If I say I love you, it is because I have already known love and lost everything, like so much grain in my hand to the wind. And if I share in your joy, it is because joy, too, is my teacher and companion.




We

November 12, 2011

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6 comments:

Jonathan Chant said...

Beautiful piece of writing William, thank you. Great image too.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jonathan.

Old 333 said...

Cool. Like a tree root, and a mural and a song - great drawing, and text. Thanks for this.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Peter. ’tis a compliment that you see it this way, that we don’t quite know where one picks up and the other leaves off.

rahina q.h. said...

beautiful, thought and imagination provoking... i imagine the hand with the calluses of life, now empty but always close by is joy, a precious thing, always to hold in an empty hand.... it is made by the self, it is something we find in our darkest moments and learn to nurture;)

William Michaelian said...

Yes. From hand to wind, to ground and crevice and stone, to grow and blow, to hand again. Thanks, Rahina.