November 10: "Beaver Moon--The Suicide of a Friend," Becoming Unbearable, Christmas Fanatic

Mary Oliver loses a friend . . . 

Beaver Moon--The Suicide of a Friend

by:  Mary Oliver

When somewhere life

breaks like a pane of glass,

and from every direction casual

voices are bringing you the news,

you say:  I should have known.  

You say:  I should have been aware. 

That last Friday he looked

so ill, like an old mountain-climber

lost on the white trails, listening

to the ice breaking upward, under

his worn-out shoes.  You say:

what could I have done? and you go

with the rest, to bury him.

That night, you turn in your bed

to watch the moon rise, and once more

see what a small coin it is

against the darkness, and how everything else

is a mystery, and you know

nothing at all except 

the moonlight is beautiful--

white rivers running together

along the bare boughs of the trees--

and somewhere, for someone, life

is becoming moment by moment

unbearable.

Yes, it is that time of year.  The days are getting shorter and shorter.  I drive to work in the dark, return home in the dark.  The boughs of the trees are bare, and, as Oliver says, somewhere, for someone, life is becoming unbearable.

If you haven't noticed, I have been sporadic in posting blogs recently.  I've fallen out of the habit of daily writing.  There are a few reasons why.  Library busyness.  Exhaustion at night.  Schoolwork.  Library work.  Family work.  I've tried to blog, but I struggle.  A lot.  My thoughts seem to slip through my fingers like a salamander.

Plus, in the past couple years, I tend to experience some pretty dark moments as the holidays approach.  Which is a strange thing for me.  My whole life, I've been a Christmas fanatic.  The day after Halloween would usually find me dragging out my Christmas decorations and decking the halls.  Not so much these days.

I still love Christmas.  The lights.  Movies.  TV shows.  Music.  Peace on Earth.  All that jazz.  However, I've become much more aware of the surrounding darkness.  There's a scene in many of the film adaptations of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol where Marley makes Scrooge look out a window.  Scrooge sees countless specters filling the air with cries of lamentation and sorrow.  That's sort where my holiday headspace has been these past few years.

This month, the Beaver Moon happens on November 27.  I feel myself sliding toward that day like Oliver's friend who looks like "an old mountain-climber / lost on the white trails . . ."  Don't worry.  I'm not thinking of self harm.  However, there's a sort of melancholic black snow falling on my head right now.  Last year, this snow held on and on, finally melting away when June rolled in.  I'm hoping spring comes a little faster this time 'round.

I know I'm not the only person who has these struggles.  I also know most people's lives are a lot more difficult than mine.  As Oliver points out in her poem, the moon is a small coin of light against the coal of the heavens.  This time of year, I am acutely aware of this fact.

So, I try to be kind--to myself and to most people I meet.  Because you never know when that kindness is exactly the live preserver a person drowning in darkness needs.

Saint Marty wishes all of his faithful disciples sunrises in the coming weeks.