It Was Early
by: Mary Oliver
It was early,
which has always been my hour
to begin looking
at the world
and of course,
even in the darkness,
to begin
listening into it,
especially
under the pines
where the owl lives
and sometimes calls out
as I walk by,
as he did
on this morning.
So many gifts!
What do they mean?
In the marshes
where the pink light
was just arriving
the mink
with his bristle tail
was stalking
the soft-eared mice,
and in the pines
the cones were heavy,
each one
ordained to open.
Sometimes I need
only to stand
where I am
to be blessed.
Little mink, let me watch you.
Little mice, run and run.
Dear pine cone, let me hold you
as you open.
Greetings all!
Yes, I have been in a sort of hibernation these last few months. Still alive, but overwhelmed by living. Writing this post feels like a kind of resurrection to me since I haven't been writing or being that creative. Unlike Oliver in the poem above, I've let the world pass me without noticing its blessings and gifts.
I just finished final grading for the semester this week. The Great Lakes Poetry Festival, which I helped organize for the end of April, went off without too many issues. My kids are healthy. Job is going well. This weekend, I'm going on a short excursion with my family to Wisconsin to see a production of Hamilton.
It's very easy to drown in the tsunami of day-to-day life. To not take time to notice the owl in the tree or the mink stalking soft-eared mice. One of the mantras of adulthood: "I don't have enough time." It's a phrase I've said over and over this past year. A lot. For me, busyness is a coping mechanism. If I keep myself busy from the moment I wake up until the time I crash on the couch at night, I don't have to deal with the emotional mess that has defined the last year or so of my existence.
If that sounds like avoidance, it probably is. A little bit. I do see a therapist once or twice a month, and that helps a great deal. However, with all of my commitments (work and school and church and community), it is also about survival. I have to get shit done--grading, rehearsing, event planning, reading, writing. Because of this necessity, I develop tunnel vision, keeping my eyes on the goal, sometimes to the detriment of family and friends.
That all being said, every once in a while, beauty breaks through. A couple days ago, as I was driving home, I was stunned by the setting sun breaking through clouds. For a few moments, all the noise in my head went silent. I drove along, into that sunset, grateful for the blessings of light and cloud and sky.
I need more moments like this. Everyone does. Mary Oliver made a habit of hunting for these grace-filled encounters. When you read her poems, it seems as if grace was as common as dandelions for her. All she had to do was step outside, go for a walk, and open herself up to the poems all around her. For Oliver, even a hungry mosquito was a poem, landing on her arm, drinking, and then flying away, blood-drunk and satisfied.
Saint Marty is hoping to get stung by beauty sometime today.
No comments:
Post a Comment