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Miracles (by Walt Whitman)

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 Einstein who said there are two ways to look at the world – one as if nothing is a miracle, the other as if everything is a miracle.  I choose today to live seeing everything as miracle.  It’s a miracle that anything exists at all.

Throughout the spring, I try to notice the trees budding.  It’s a slow gradual process, but I’m amazed at how I can miss it if I’m not mindful and then all of a sudden all there is is green.  Miracles – often slow, imperceptible, unless we are looking for them.  To see the gradual unfolding of miracles, in nature of course, but also in my own life.  And maybe the greatest miracle is how I’m beginning to look for and notice more of them each day and to be grateful for how just about everything is miracle.

How many springs do we get anyway?  How many days also?  I’ve had those in my family who only had 42 of them, or 52 and some into their 80’s.  But are there ever enough?  So, to live this one well, to see it, to really see it is a part of the secrets of life.

O God, change me into one who sees miracles everywhere – in nature, in myself, in others, in the world around me.  That I may live each day in amazement and gratitude.  Not having ever wasted another spring, or another day to live in awe.