Our Daily Experiences Make Us Who We Are

The books and the poems I’ve been reading discuss the soul, the spirit, and how they connect with the heart, our lifeline, what we mustn’t ever take for granted.

I celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and I loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass. — Walt Whitman

I never knew much about Walt Whitman until lately, but now he’s right here beside me on the cover of Leaves of Grass, smiling. Maybe I wasn’t ready to discover him until now.

Dickens dined at a different table every hour of his life,
When Dickens expressed to A.H. Layard his fear of revolution in Britain in 1855, he only echoed many dozens of commentators over the preceding six decades, who wondered why mob violence could not simply cross the English Channel and turn the streets of London into a bloodbath of class retribution,
My respiration and inspiration,
The beating of my heart,
The passing of blood and air through my lungs.
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves
And of the shore and of
Dark-colored sea rocks. — Walt Whitman

Our age is just as exciting. We’re alive, changing, adapting to our new circumstances.

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