Three Things to Remember
by: Mary Oliver
As long as you're dancing, you can
break the rules.
Sometimes breaking the rules is just
extending the rules.
Sometimes there are no rules.
Mary's being playful here. She's also being deadly serious.
In day-to-day life, everyone obeys rules. If you're a young kid, it's rules that parents hand down: "No, you can't have cupcakes for breakfast." Ditto if you're a teenager: "No, you can't have you're boyfriend sleep over." And, when you reach adulthood, those rules simply proliferate like horny rabbits: "Don't be late for work . . . Don't forget to pay the water bill . . . Don't drink caffeine after 5 p.m. unless you want to be awake all night . . . Don't vote for would-be dictators with orange faces . . . " I could go on, but you understand.
Rules are the things that allow society to function. I appreciate rules.
However, some rules are made and enforced for no apparent good reason. For example, who decided that paczkis should only be made and consumed on Fat Tuesday? Perhaps, if paczkis were made all year long, they would lose their luster, but I doubt it. Then there's the whole thing of expiration dates on eggs. My wife is a firm believer in throwing out all food products once they pass their expiration dates. Me? I think those dates are mere suggestions. Expired milk, for example, is not necessarily sour. The sniff test is a much better indicator of whether any food product is fit for consumption.
Rules are helpful when they insure safety and peace. (If, during the height of the pandemic, you were an anti-masker/anti-vaxxer, you may want to stop reading this post now.) A couple years ago, in defiance of state and federal guidelines, many people ignored rules regarding public health, gathering in large public spaces without masks, spreading a deadly virus. (Again, if you don't believe there was a pandemic and that thousands of people died as a result of that pandemic, please stop reading this post. There are no vaccines for ignorance or stupidity.) Some rules are simply necessary, to keep people safe and happy and healthy. These kinds of rules are based on things like common sense, science, love, and/or compassion.
Other rules seem arbitrary, unnecessary, and/or flagrantly unkind and dangerous. I once tried to purchase a pint of schnapps on Christmas morning and was told that it was illegal to sell liquor in the state of Michigan on Christmas. If there is any time of the rolling year when access to alcohol shouldn't be restricted, it's Christmas day when you gather with family and dig up all the skeletons buried at the back of the closet. Alcohol shouldn't be restricted, it should be a requirement. Then there's the whole gun problem in the United States. Since the start of 2023, there have been 67 mass shootings in this country. The land of the free. Home of the brave. So, people are free to own all the guns they want, and children and young adults have to be brave to step into a classroom. When a rule harms someone, it's not a good rule. Period. And that rule needs to be changed, ignored, or abolished.
There are no rules for expressing joy. How do you express true, abiding happiness? You clap. Laugh. Sing. Dance. My sister, Rose, loved music. She wasn't a good singer or dancer, but that didn't matter. She was always the loudest voice in the choir loft on Sundays. Always offkey. She didn't follow the rules when she opened her mouth to make a joyful noise or moved her body to make a joyful show.
But the sounds that came out of my sister at those times probably made the Higher Power happier than Placido Domingo belting out the final note of "Nessun Dorma." And she probably put King David to shame when she was getting down on the dance floor. She was song. She was dance.
I've been playing the pipe organ at my church on weekends for over 30 years. And Rose was there for most of my tenure as a church musician. One evening, coming down from choir loft, a parishioner stopped me and said with a pained expression, "You should tell your sister to sing softer."
I looked at the woman and said, "Why don't you come up to the choir loft and tell her yourself?"
The woman looked flummoxed.
I continued: "It isn't about being perfect. It's about present." I started walking away from her and said over my shoulder, "If all you're hearing during Mass is bad singing, maybe you aren't listening right."
Here's a rule Saint Marty believes in: if you don't have something nice to say, keep your goddamn mouth shut.
