On Thy Wondrous Works I Will Meditate
by: Mary Oliver
(Psalm 145)
1.
All day up and down the shore the
fine points of the waves keep on
tapping whatever is there: scatter of broken
clams, empty jingles, old
oyster shells thick and castellated that held
once the pale jewel of their bodies and sweet
tongue and juice. And who do you
think you are sauntering along
five feet up in the air, the ocean a blue fire
around your ankles, the sun
on your face, on your shoulders its golden mouth whispering
(so it seems) you! you! you!
2.
Now the afternoon wind
all frill and no apparent purpose
takes her cloud-shaped
hand and touches every one of the
waves so that rapidly
they stir the wings of the eiders they blur
the boats on their moorings; not even the rocks
black and blunt interrupt the waves on their
way to the shore and one last swimmer (is it you?) rides
their salty infoldings and outfoldings until,
peaked, their blue sides heaving, they pause; and God
whistles them back; and you glide safely to shore.
3.
One morning
a hundred pink and cylindrical
squid lay beached their lacy faces,
their gnarls of dimples and ropy tentacles
limp and powerless; as I watched
the big gulls went down upon
this sweetest trash rolling
like the arms of babies through the
swash--in a feathered dash,
a calligraphy of delight the beaks fell
grabbing and snapping; then was left only the
empty beach, the birds floating back over the waves.
4.
How many mysteries have you seen in your
lifetime? How many nets pulled
full over the boat's side, each silver body
ready or not falling into
submission? How many roses in early summer
uncurling above the pale sands then
falling back in unfathomable
willingness? And what can you say? Glory
to the rose and the leaf, to the seed, to the
silver fish. Glory in time and the wild fields,
and to joy. And to grief's shock and torpor, its near swoon.
5.
So it is not hard to understand
where God's body is, it is
everywhere and everything; shore and the vast
fields of water, the accidental and the intended
over here, over there. And I bow down
participate and attentive
it is so dense and apparent. And all the same I am still
unsatisfied. Standing
here, now, I am thinking
not of His thick wrists and His blue
shoulders but, still, of Him. Where, do you suppose, is His
pale and wonderful mind?
6.
I would be good--oh, I would be upright and good.
To what purpose? To be shining not
sinful, not wringing out of the hours
petulance, heaviness, ashes. To what purpose?
Hope of heaven? Not that. But to enter
the other kingdom: grace, and imagination,
and the multiple sympathies: to be as a leaf, a rose,
a dolphin, a wave rising
slowly then briskly out of the darkness to touch
the limpid air, to be God's mind's
servant, loving with the body's sweet mouth--its kisses, its
words--
everything.
7.
I know a man of such
mildness and kindness it is trying to
change my life. He does not
preach, teach, but simply is. It is
astonishing, for he is Christ's ambassador
truly, by rule and act. But, more,
he is kind with the sort of kindness that shines
out, but is resolute, not fooled. He has
eaten the dark hours and could also, I think,
soldier for God, riding out
under the storm clouds, against the world's pride and unkindness
with both unassailable sweetness, and consoling word.
8.
Every morning I want to kneel down on the golden
cloth of the sand and say
some kind of musical thanks for
the world that is happening again--another day--
from the shawl of wind coming out of the
west to the firm green
flesh of the melon lately sliced open and
eaten, its chill and ample body
flavored with mercy. I want
to be worthy of--what? Glory? Yes, unimaginable glory.
O Lord of melons, of mercy, though I am
not ready, nor worthy, I am climbing toward you.
Psalm 145 is a praise psalm. Pretty much, King David is calling on everything in the heavens and on Earth to "praise his holy name for ever and ever." I think Oliver made her poetic career following the advice of this psalm. Even in her darkest poems on loss and grief, she finds holiness. Everything was sacred to Oliver, from the flesh of a freshly cut melon to the grief over a lost loved one. Joy can't exist without sorrow. So, just as much as great happiness is a gift, so is great sadness.
Today, it rained for the first time in a long while in the Upper Peninsula. I woke to the sound of rain on the roof, and it continued all morning and afternoon. I'm not complaining. We needed a good soaking. For the last few weeks, Canada has been burning, causing orange sunrises and orange moonrises. Until today, one little spark of lightning or cinder of campfire, and the entire U. P. would have joined our flaming neighbors to the north.
Forest fires are normal occurrences. Sometimes, they're caused by careless humans. A lot of the time, however, the cause is natural: lightning and volcanoes and meteors. When a forest burns, nature takes over. The ashes and soot feed the soil, and those nutrients start the process of regrowth.
Out of ashes, hope.
When the United States dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, 170 trees survived the blast. Those trees are still thriving almost 80 years later. A group called Green Legacy Hiroshima sends seedlings from those trees all over the world to promote peace.
Out of war and death. hope.
Yes, human beings have messed up this world. (Climate change deniers may want to skip the rest of this paragraph.) Polluted oceans and lakes. Disappearing polar icecaps. Extinctions of animals and birds and fish. Rather than glorifying the gifts of creation, we use them, mine them, consume them, and then abandon them. To paraphrase Ursula from The Little Mermaid, it's what we do, what we live for.
Of course, not all humankind is corrupt or destructive. Even in the darkest of times, a person can find beauty. During the horrors of the Holocaust, one little Jewish girl wrote in her diary, "I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart."
I believe that, as well. I have to. Because the alternative is just too depressing.
So, this evening when I got home from work, I took a walk around my soggy backyard. Because of the recent rain, the mosquitoes were out in full force. Praise the rain. Praise the mosquitoes. Because it was near dusk, other creatures were appearing. Praise the earthworms. Praise the frogs. The grass and trees and bushes seemed to be breathing the moist air. Praise the color green. And inside my house, my wife and son were waiting. Praise love. Praise love.
Saint Marty believes, in spite of everything, that the world is full of goodness.
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