November 25: "No Voyage," Disaster and Pain, Charmed with Happiness

Mary Oliver makes peace with her life . . . 

No Voyage

by:  Mary Oliver

I wake earlier, now that the birds have come

And sing in the unfailing trees.

On a cot by an open window

I lie like land used up, while spring unfolds.

Now of all voyagers I remember, who among them

Did not board ship with grief among their maps?--

Till it seemed men never go somewhere, they only leave

Wherever they are, when the dying begins.

For myself, I find my wanting life

Implores no novelty and no disguise of distance;

Where, in what country, might I put down these thoughts,

Who still am citizen of this fallen city?

On a cot by an open window, I lie and remember

While the birds in the trees sing of the circle of time.

Let the dying go on, and let me, if I can,

Inherit from disaster before I move.

O, I go to see the great ships ride from harbor,

And my wounds leap with impatience; yet I turn back

To sort the weeping ruins of my house:

Here or nowhere I will make peace with the fact.

This isn't an easy Mary Oliver poem.  It's a poem about grief and wounds.  Voyages undertaken to escape the inescapable.  The truth is pretty simple:  a person can learn just as much (maybe more) from a life of disaster and pain as from a life charmed with happiness.  And let's face it:  no life is without its share of weeping.  It's unavoidable.  It just comes with the territory of being a human being in a broken world.  Either you let that weeping eat you up, or you make peace with it.

I want to write about two things today.  One falls under the disaster/pain category.  The other, under the happiness category.

First, on Thanksgiving, we had dinner with my sisters.  It was a lovely meal.  After we'd gorged, I found out that one of my sisters had been sneezing, sniffling, and coughing for several days, and one of her managers at her job was COVID-positive.  I immediately made my sister take a COVID test, and it came back positive.  

Cut to:  last night and this morning, my son has been sneezing, sniffling, and coughing, but he isn't fatigued or lacking his normal piss and vinegar. My wife and I have tested negative for COVID for two days straight so far.  My son, unfortunately, tested positive this afternoon.  He's doing well, still screaming at his gaming friends in his isolation ward upstairs.  However, my wife and I are now waiting for the other COVID shoe to drop, so to speak.  Not quite a disaster, but certainly a pain in the ass.

Second, today is my puppy's fourth birthday.  Four years ago, when I came up with the notion of getting a dog for Christmas, I had no idea how much it would change our lives.  Since she first came into our home, our little bundle of fur has brought us so much joy.  She loves unconditionally and seems to have a sixth sense for when I've had a particularly bad day:  she will jump up on the couch beside me and simply lay her head on my knee, lifting her blue eyes to look up into my face.  And that bad day somehow doesn't seem quite so bad anymore.

There it is:  disaster and joy in the weeping ruins of my house.  My son upstairs, swearing and coughing.  My puppy downstairs, mangling her birthday present--a chew toy in the shape of a fried egg. 

And Saint Marty in his office, blogging about making peace with it all.