October 4: "Moles," Pushing the Dirt, Quiet Desperation

Mary Oliver admires . . . 

Moles

by:  Mary Oliver

Under the leaves, under

the first loose

levels of earth

they're there--quick

as beetles, blind

as bats, shy 

as hares but seen

less than these--

traveling

among the pale girders

of appleroot,

rockshelf, nests

of insects and black

pastures of bulbs

peppery and packed full

of the sweetest food:

spring flowers.

Field after field

you can see the traceries

of their long

lonely walks, then

the rains blur

even this frail

hint of them--

so excitable,

so plush,

so willing to continue

generation after generation

accomplishing nothing 

but their brief physical lives

as they live and die,

pushing and shoving

with their stubborn muzzles against

the whole earth,

finding it

delicious.

There it is--the life of the mole.  Pushing and shoving dirt all their lives, their heavens studded with appleroot and rockshelf, eclipses of bulbs and the promise of spring flowers.  In general, nobody sings the praises of these small, blind creatures of the earth.  Nobody, that is, except Mary Oliver.

I think most of us live our lives like this--doing our things, pushing the dirt, getting the necessary work done without needing an "attaboy" or "nice job" or "holy shit!"  As Thoreau said, most humans "lead lives of quiet desperation."  I don't expect a praise psalm every time I teach a class or lead a poetry workshop.  My impulse, when I receive a compliment, is to deflect and deprecate.  After all, most successes are team efforts,  For example, the winners of the 2023 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, Katalin Kariko and Drew Weissman, were a team whose work led to the development mRNA COVID vaccines.  A team.  And they saved millions of people.  

I'm so blessed in my life to have supportive and loving family and friends, even with all my poet weirdness.  The choices I've made in my life haven't all been the greatest.  I've fucked up just as much as I've succeeded.  If I were a mole, I probably would have broken my muzzle trying to dig a hole through solid granite.  Yet, my tribe has stuck by me, supporting me through my lowest of lows as well as my highest of highs.  

Moles move mountains of dirt during their humble lives, and they find the work delicious. 

Saint Marty has shoveled a lot of shit in his lifetime, and he has been graced with more than his fair share of auroras, rainbows, and mind-blowing sunrises.