January 25: Only to Endure, "I" Sentences, Mary Oliver

Santiago takes a drink of water . . . 

"It was noon when I hooked him," he said. "And I have never seen him."

He had pushed his straw hat hard down on his head before he hooked the fish and it was cutting his forehead. He was thirsty too and he got down on his knees and, being careful not to jerk on the line, moved as far into the bow as he could get and reached the water bottle with one hand. He opened it and drank a little. Then he rested against the bow. He rested sitting on the un-stepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only to endure.

You know, Santiago gets it right here.  Sometimes the only thing you can do in life is have a drink and endure.  It helps if that drink is a little stronger than water.

At the moment, I am in endurance mode.  I have to teach.  I have a $20,000 grant application that I have to submit by midnight tomorrow.  I have a poem to write for my sister's funeral.  And, ever since I had COVID at the beginning of the month, I still get tired beyond reason at night.  I think my freight train of emotions about my sister's death may be adding to this nighttime exhaustion.

That's a lot of "I" sentences.  Generally, I try to avoid doing that.  Believe it or not, I don't really like focusing on myself all that much.  I prefer helping other people out.  Doing things that make the world a better place.  That's why I love being in charge of programming at the library.  Bringing poetry and art and music into the universe.  There's nothing better.  It's medicine for the weary heart and soul.  

These last few days, I've been turning to Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, for solace.  She wrote a lot about grief and loss.  In a gentle, comforting, and, ultimately, beautiful way.  In particular, I have been holding onto these words:  

We shake with joy, we shake with grief.

What a time they have, these two

housed as they are in the same body.

Oliver gets it.  Joy and grief housed in the same container.  You can't have one without the other.  Here's the thing--if something or someone brings you great joy, you will eventually lose that something or someone.  And then you will experience great grief.

If you love deeply, you will grieve deeply.  No way around it.

If you know a loophole to this rule, please let Saint Marty know.