And these things I see suddenly, what mean they? As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal’d my eyes, Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and… - Walt Whitman

To me, every hour of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle.

The spirit receives from the body just as much as it gives to the body, if not more.

HOW solemn, as one by one,
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty — as the men file by where I stand;
As the faces, the masks appear — as I glance at the faces, studying the masks;
(As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are;)
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to you;
I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul;
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are:
... The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting, secure and content, which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!