With Thanks to the Field Sparrow, Whose Voice Is So Delicate and Humble
by: Mary Oliver
I do not live happily or comfortably
with the cleverness of our times.
The talk is all about computers,
the news is all about bombs and blood.
This morning, in the fresh field,
I came upon a hidden nest.
It held four warm, speckled eggs.
I touched them.
Then went away softly,
having felt something more wonderful
than all the electricity of New York City.
Okay, I have to say this: Mary Oliver is amazing.
The world is full of all kinds of noise that distracts. Every day, there's a new social media platform or piece of technology that is supposed to make life/communication better or easier. The newest iteration of iPhone. Upgrades to Facebook or Instagram or Twitter. I held off from entering the Facebook universe until about seven years ago. (By the time I joined, Facebook was no longer hip. It was for old people trying to find out if the library was open.)
I doubt Mary Oliver ever owned a cell phone. In fact, I would bet a year's salary that she didn't. She was more interested in unmediated miracles. Miracles she could touch with her fingers, smell with her nose, taste with her tongue, hear with her ears. Mary Oliver encounters a nest of speckled eggs. What does she do? She doesn't take out her phone, snap a picture of them, and then post the picture on Facebook with a caption like, "Better than all the electricity in New York City." Nope. She gently touches the warm eggs, admires them, and then, when she gets home, writes a beautiful poem about them.
Isn't that a better way of encountering the world and life? (This coming from a person who has published over five thousand blog posts. I know. I'm kind of a hypocrite.) My jobs require a certain amount of social media interaction on my part. Social media is a necessary evil. (And I use the term "necessary evil" hesitantly. Because it's a cliché. Also because I don't think all social media is evil.) In order for people to be aware of readings or programs or concerts or books or blog posts, I use social media. For example, when I am done with this blog post, I will use Facebook to tell people about it. That, I think, is a legitimate and healthy use of social media.
However, when I go to dinner tonight at Texas Roadhouse, I'm not going to go home and post a picture of my sirloin on Twitter with "#feeling_blessed." . (By the way, I don't do Twitter. Have never done Twitter. Don't intend to start doing Twitter. Don't really understand the need for Twitter.) When social media becomes a way to convince the world that your life is wonderful, there's a problem. A big problem.
Have I posted pictures of my kids on their birthdays? Yes. Have I posted pictures of my wife on our anniversary? Absolutely. Yet, I don't create these posts to convince people that my life and family are perfect. Any longtime disciple of Saint Marty knows that I embrace imperfections. I freely admit my failings and struggles. That's what life is--a series of mistakes interrupted by occasions of wonder.
When I go on social media, I don't want to see doctored photos of flower gardens. Don't use a profile picture that's ten years old. I want truth, in all its beautiful ugliness. Show me your gray hair. Your dog-bitten hands. Show me you.
I think that's what Mary Oliver is writing about in this poem. She knows the world is a hard place, full of sorrow and loss and violence. Social media thrives on that shit. Oliver isn't preaching that we should ignore the cruelties of life. In fact, she wants us to realize that the world isn't good or bad, kind or cruel. The world is just the world. How we interact and react to the world is what makes the difference.
I am in Wisconsin tonight with my family. We went shopping. Ate some good food. My son went swimming. It has been a wonderful day of relaxation, except for the traffic. I'm not a big fan of four-lane highways and city driving. Tomorrow, we may go to a museum or do some more shopping. And tomorrow night, we are taking in a traveling production of Hamilton. My daughter has been obsessed with this show since high school.
I'm not bragging or trying to convince you that I have a better life than anybody else. Go back and read some of my older posts. My life is messy, just like anybody else's. But, every once in a while. when the stars align, something amazing happens. Speckled eggs in a nest, more wonderful than all the electricity in New York City.
This weekend is one of those speckled egg moments for me. I get to spend a lot of time with my family--the ones I love the most.
Saint Marty thinks that is better than all the water in Lake Superior.
No comments:
Post a Comment