July 4: "Mindful," Sedate Independence Day, Small Things

Mary Oliver pays attention . . . 

Mindful

by:  Mary Oliver

Every day

     I see or I hear

          something

               that more or less

kills me

     with delight,

          that leaves me

               like a needle

in the haystack

     of light.

          It is what I was born for--

               to look, to listen,

to lose myself

     inside this soft world--

          to instruct myself

               over and over

in joy,

     and acclamation.

          Nor am I talking

               about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

     the very extravagant--

          but the ordinary,

               the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.

     Oh, good scholar,

          I say to myself,

               how can you help

but grow wise

     with such teachings

          as these--

               the untrimmable light

of the world,

     the ocean's shine,

          the prayers that are made

               out of grace?

It has been a pretty sedate holiday for me.  I slept in.  No parades to attend or fireworks displays to "ooh" and "aah" over.  Instead, I took my puppy for a walk, watched Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window, read some, wrote some, and had a barbecue with my family.  Hot dogs, bratwurst, watermelon, pistachio pudding, and corn on the cob.

If that sounds like a boring way to celebrate Independence Day, sorry not sorry.  It was slow, quiet, and perfectly ordinary.  A Mary Oliver kind of day where I experienced satisfaction in the small things--the sun in maple leaves, rumble of garbage truck outside my window, buzz saw of cicada.

I rarely have time to be this mindful of the world's tiny miracles.  Pretty much, my days are races from one event to another.  Little chance to slow down and count daisy petals or play board games with my kids.

Early in the evening, it started to rain and thunder.  God's fireworks.  It lasted only a little while.  And now, I'm sitting on my couch, scribbling this blog post in my journal, sipping Diet Mountain Dew.  Like I said--S. E. D. A. T. E.

I don't always need momentous to enjoy myself.  In fact, as I've gotten older, I find boring days much more my style.  On boring days, I can read a good book or compose a new poem or just listen to the crickets singing their nighttime choruses.  As Oliver says, boring allows me "to instruct myself / over and over / in joy, / and acclamation."

Saint Marty has reveled in the freedom of this Independence Day to do absolutely nothing and be joyful.