August 20: Melancholy, Mary Oliver, "Happiness"

I find myself a little melancholy tonight.  Perhaps because of the impending close of summer.  Perhaps because my life has changed so much over the past three or four months.  Perhaps because my brother died recently.  Perhaps because my five-year-old son cried in bed tonight because his cousins are leaving tomorrow to return to their home in Utah.  Perhaps because the world is such a fucked-up place, where journalists are murdered for their pursuit of truth, where neighbors bomb neighbors, where peaceful communities become war zones.

Whatever the reason, I'm a little blue.

Mary Oliver has a great poem about the pursuit of joy.  Every time I read it, it makes me smile.  Lifts my spirits.

Saint Marty needs a little lift tonight.

Happiness

by:  Mary Oliver

In the afternoon, I watched
the she bear; she was looking
for the secret bin of sweetness--
honey, that the bees store
in the trees' soft caves.
Black block of gloom, she climbed down
tree after tree and shuffled on
through the woods.  And then
she found it!  The honey-house deep
as heartwood, and dipped into it
among the swarming bees--honey and comb
she lipped and tongued and scooped out
in her black nails, until

maybe she grew full, or sleepy, or maybe
a little drunk, and sticky
down the rugs of her arms,
and began to hum and sway.
I saw her let go of the branches,
I saw her lift her honeyed muzzle
into the leaves, and her thick arms,
as though she would fly--
an enormous bee
all sweetness and wings--
down into the meadows, the perfection
of honeysuckle and roses and clover--
to float and sleep in the sheer nets
swaying from flower to flower
day after shining day.

Silly old bear