The Poet Thinks About the Donkey
by: Mary Oliver
On the outskirts of Jerusalem
the donkey waited.
Not especially brave, or filled with understanding,
he stood and waited.
How horses, turned out into the meadow,
leapt with delight!
How doves, released from their cages,
clatter away, splashed with sunlight!
But the donkey, tied to a tree as usual, waited.
Then he let himself be led away.
The he let the stranger mount.
Never had he seen such crowds!
And I wonder if he at all imagined what was to happen.
Still, he was what he had always been: small, dark, obedient.
I hope, finally, he felt brave.
I hope, finally, he loved the man who rode so lightly upon him
as he lifted one dusty hoof and stepped, as he had to, forward.
I would lay money that the bravest people in the world don't consider themselves brave. Or strong. Or extraordinary. They're more like this donkey that Oliver describes, simple and obedient, doing what they have to do, one step at a time. Real, everyday heroes who do the work of living quietly, without fanfare.
This morning, I did a presentation for the annual conference of group of writers and publishers. It was the culmination of several weeks of preparation on my part. I was contacted last year by the president of the organization, asking me to be the keynote speaker. I was flattered and terrified at the same time. I don't really think of myself as keynote worthy. Instead, I've always felt a little like P. T. Barnum, putting on shows that fool audiences into thinking they're witnessing something amazing.
Well, there was no fooling this group. They were all experienced writers and poets and artists. So, either the curtain was going to be pulled back, revealing me as the imposter Wizard of Oz, or I was going to be my true self--the plumber's son who became a poet. I was that donkey, tied to a tree, ready to move forward.
The presentation was a huge success, I think. I didn't make a complete fool of myself, and I managed to make people laugh and clap. I even sold some of my merchandise. Most important of all, I was just myself, telling stories, reading poems, playing the piano, and trying to inspire. I don't think I was necessarily brave, but I tried to approach the presentation fearlessly. And it seemed to work.
After the presentation, my wife, son, and I walked down to the local Pride Fest to volunteer at the craft table for a few hours. It was cold and windy. Near the end of our time there, mist and drizzle pushed in off Lake Superior. (Last year for Pride Fest, it rained almost the entire day.)
Despite the weather, people showed up in their rainbow and fishnet finest. There was joyful laughter and loud, raucous music. Overpriced food and drinks. Dogs dressed in Pride shirts. Balloons. Free pinball. And everyone there was just enjoying being themselves, freely and proudly.
I have to say that my afternoon at Pride Fest put things in perspective for me. Yes, I felt pretty accomplished this morning, standing in front of an audience of 80 or so people, doing my schtick. Brave even. But, seeing all the people at Pride Fest, knowing the kinds of ridicule and shame they are made to experience every day of their lives--that is real bravery. They are heroes just for being who they are, living their lives authentically.
Now, I know that members of the LGTBQIA+ community don't see themselves as brave. They don't want to be heroes. They just want to go to school or work, live their lives, love and be loved. Just like everyone else. Yet, society doesn't always allow that, and that breaks my heart, especially for my family members and friends and coworkers who are targets of this kind of intolerance.
As we were leaving Pride Fest, it was almost raining. A group of teens were just entering the festival grounds. They were all decked out in miniskirts and pink capes. As we passed them, one trans kid joked, "You know why it rains and is cold every Pride Fest? Because God hates us." The whole group laughed.
That little joke, told so offhandedly, encapsulates everything that is wrong with society and some organized religions today. These young, queer people have seen and experienced so much ignorance and hatred in their short time on this planet that they think God hates them (if they believe in God at all). It made me ashamed to call myself a Christian, even though I know that not all Christians are bigots or homophobes or transphobes.
I was surrounded by some of the bravest people in the world today. Not because they were rushing into burning buildings to save dogs. Or diving into Lake Superior to save a drowning person. Or chasing down a mugger. No. They were brave because they were just being themselves, unashamedly, with incredible happiness.
Say it with Saint Marty, bravely, loudly: love is love. Amen.
