Today I discovered a beautiful poem by Walt Whitman and wanted to share it with you. Happy Sunday!

Miracles
Walt Whitman, 1819 – 1892
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the
water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer
forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so
quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the
ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

It's only fair to share...Tweet about this on TwitterShare on FacebookEmail this to someoneShare on RedditPin on Pinterest

Winter: : from the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau

One of my favorite philosophers, Henry D. Thoreau on the internet archive, you can have the wisdom of the world at the palm of your hand. One of the first books I read in English was Walden. A phenomenally deep and sincere look at the self, at the material world. It was the first time ever that I encountered someone that had similar outlook at the world and especially the material world. The material world is very enticing and it is very easy to get lost in the daily choreographies of life, and to loose perspective at what it means to be be alive.

Thoreau investigates life directly and without fear, because it is really fear that keeps us attached to material things. I am really uninterested in the material world, inasmuch as it is represented by handbags, furniture, cars, food. I like to spend my time investigating ideas, phenomena, philosophy and asking questions. I also like to spend my time creating and investigating new ideas and new ways to experience and create work.

It's only fair to share...Tweet about this on TwitterShare on FacebookEmail this to someoneShare on RedditPin on Pinterest