Some Questions You Might Ask
by: Mary Oliver
Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?
Who has it, and who doesn't?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is as sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater
who loves her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about the maple tree?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?
Sometimes, questions can be good, even if there is no way you will be able to answer them. Oliver will never be able discover what the shape of the soul is, or if it has one or two lungs. She won't ever know if the camel or maple tree or grass has a soul. Yet, the questions themselves are like small prayers, filled with grace and wonder.
Tonight, my mind is filled with other kinds of questions. Ones that have no relationship with grace or wonder. These are the kinds of queries that cause sleepless nights and worry-filled days. They are exhausting. I will not get into the details of these questions or their cause. That's not the point of this post. Suffice to say, I've had a personally difficult day, filled with lots of old emotions that I try to keep locked away in the dusty corners of my heart.
I tend to obsess over these questions. Because that's all I can do. I've been wrestling with them for many, many years. They will disappear for extended periods of time, but then something occurs that brings them out into the sunlight, where they sit like dark birds in winter branches.
Unanswerable questions tend to be about circumstances or ideas or realities over which you have no control. Like the soul. Or suffering. Or heartbreak. Intangibles that are beyond human comprehension. Why does God allow suffering to happen? What is the purpose of a broken heart? Why is love as fragile as a spiderweb?
There's simply no way to know any of these things. The most I can do is open my mouth and give breath to the questions. That, somehow, gives them a body, makes them manageable, despite the pain they may cause.
Don't worry. Saint Marty will be fine. He's been through this before. And, like Annie sings, the sun will come out tomorrow.
