April 9: "On the Beach," Rose from the Dead, Formations and Constellations

Mary Oliver meditates on love . . . 

On the Beach

by: Mary Oliver

On the beach, at dawn:

four small stones clearly

hugging each other.

How many kinds of love

might there be in the world,

and how many formations might they make

and who am I ever

to imagine I could know

such a marvelous business?

When the sun broke

it poured willingly its light

over the stones

that did not move, not at all,

just as, to its always generous term,

it shed its light on me,

my own body that loves,

equally, to hug another body.

I recently rose from the dead.

All church musicians fall into a coma around noon on Easter Sunday, after having played four, five, six or seven church services over the course of Holy Week, not to mention the extra rehearsals and practices, choirs, and special music.  (For the record, my tally this year is six, from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday.)  I lasted until around 3:30 p.m. today, and then I slipped into the nether world for a good five hours.  

I literally just crawled out of that tomb.  I'm still feeling a little foggy, but refreshed.  I spent the afternoon with family, eating way too much ham and rolls and cheesy potatoes and Greek Easter bread.  Plus, I may have had one or two mimosas.  (Okay, three.  Shoot me.)  So, over-indulgence piled on top of exhaustion equals extra-long nap.

And my family just let me sleep.  I am lucky to have family I really love.  They know me and all of my quirks and failings, and they accept me without reservation.  I'm the weird brother/brother-in-law/uncle/great uncle who writes Bigfoot poetry, teaches English, swears like Lenny Bruce, and plays the pipe organ/keyboard for, on average, three churches every weekend.  I'm a weirdo in so many ways.

Yet, I am loved.  I hugged and got hugged today.  The day was warm, and the sun was shining, steadily shining on the world and all the people in it, Christian and non-Christian, brother and sister and wife and child and friend, on all the baskets stuffed with chocolate and all the snow piles dwindling, dwindling, on stones and trees and mud, all the dinner tables and people sitting around them, on all of the kinds of love that exists in the universe--these formations and constellations that tell our stories, remind us we are important.

Saint Marty wishes all his faithful disciples a happy Easter!