Which is ours … and then everything else follows…. This rings so true… the more I heal myself it becomes a necessity to help anyone else whose wounds shine like mine did… as every day I continue to try again mend my life
Is there ever a deep place of longing, of loss or being lost that Mary Oliver didn’t touch? I remembered this piece from her that too resonates as ‘The Journey’ is this one of a thousand mornings…
Thanks you. I listened to an interview with MO on Krista Tippett's NPR. program "On Being"--near the end of MO's life and she made this observation about the difficulty and suffering of her early life.
"Well, I saved my own life, by finding a place that wasn’t in that house. And that was my strength. But I wasn’t all strength. And it would have been a very different life. Whether I would have written poetry or not, who knows? Poetry is a pretty lonely pursuit."
That observation really struck me, the world without MO's poetry would diminished. It was lovely to listen to her, she had a wonderful sturdy 'no nonsense' speaking voice.
My God, this reminds me of when I left home. If I hadn't decided to break rules and untie the strings, I'd be stuck pumping out babies for Jesus and Joseph Smith.
"save the only life that you could save", in other words: mend your life and allow your heart to beckon fearless again in the fog like a solitary lighthouse, and who knows, at some point maybe others will let themselves guided by the light, helping them to find the thin path among the dangerous and sharp rocks. Sensible words coming from such a sensible person. Beautiful stream of thoughts for today. Thank you 🙏
This floored me. I've loved a smattering of Mary Oliver, but hadn't encountered this one before - and it perfectly captures the ethos of my own lived experience. Just goosebumps.
As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful. They are the things that fill our lives with comfort and our hearts with gladness -- just the pure air to breathe and the strength to breath it.
May I recommend a Netflix show titled: Pernille. Any woman that has tried her very best in the face of life, with no control of the events or people that float in and out of "the house" one lives in, will adore and cry in the watching. And, any men who are brave enough to watch and perhaps see themselves truly, will learn.
I was immediately reminded of verses 153-154 from the Dhammapada’s chapter on Old Age, which read:
Through many births
I have wandered on and on,
Searching for, but never finding,
The builder of this house.
To be born again and again is suffering.
House-builder, you are seen!
You will not build a house again!
The rafters are broken,
The ridgepole destroyed;
The mind, gone to the Unconstructed,
Has reached the end of craving!
Thank you for the poem this morning. 🙏
You’re welcome!
As close to gospel as words can be. Essentially this is all we need to know simplified into poetry. We were always the poem. Thank you Mary! 🙏❤️
Every. Word. OF. This.
especially
"determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life that you could save
Which is ours … and then everything else follows…. This rings so true… the more I heal myself it becomes a necessity to help anyone else whose wounds shine like mine did… as every day I continue to try again mend my life
You might also like William Stafford's book, "You Must Revise Your Life."
I love his work! I was introduced to him through my mentor, Naomi Shihab Nye. I’ll look into that specific book! Thank you.
Is there ever a deep place of longing, of loss or being lost that Mary Oliver didn’t touch? I remembered this piece from her that too resonates as ‘The Journey’ is this one of a thousand mornings…
Hurricane
It didn't behave
like anything you had
ever imagined. The wind
tore at the trees, the rain
fell for days slant and hard.
The back of the hand
to everything. I watched
the trees bow and their leaves fall
and crawl back into the earth.
As though, that was that.
This was one hurricane
I lived through, the other one
was of a different sort, and
lasted longer. Then
I felt my own leaves giving up and
falling. The back of the hand to
everything.
But listen now to what happened
to the actual trees;
toward the end of that summer they
pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.
It was the wrong season, yes,
but they couldn't stop. They
looked like telephone poles and didn't
care. And after the leaves came
blossoms.
For some things
there are no wrong seasons.
Which is what I dream of for me.
-- Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings
I don't think this one is as well known as "The Journey," but it's another one of my favorites from Mary Oliver. I think it gives such wise advice.
Mozart, for Example
By Mary Oliver, from Thirst
All the quick notes
Mozart didn’t have time to use
before he entered the cloud-boat
are falling now from the beaks
of the finches
that have gathered from the joyous summer
into the hard winter
and, like Mozart, they speak of nothing
but light and delight,
though it is true, the heavy blades of the world
are still pounding underneath.
And this is what you can do too, maybe,
if you live simply and with a lyrical heart
in the cumbered neighborhoods or even,
as Mozart sometimes managed to, in a palace,
offering tune after tune after tune,
making some hard-hearted prince
prudent and kind, just by being happy.
Thanks you. I listened to an interview with MO on Krista Tippett's NPR. program "On Being"--near the end of MO's life and she made this observation about the difficulty and suffering of her early life.
"Well, I saved my own life, by finding a place that wasn’t in that house. And that was my strength. But I wasn’t all strength. And it would have been a very different life. Whether I would have written poetry or not, who knows? Poetry is a pretty lonely pursuit."
That observation really struck me, the world without MO's poetry would diminished. It was lovely to listen to her, she had a wonderful sturdy 'no nonsense' speaking voice.
Excellence at its finest
My God, this reminds me of when I left home. If I hadn't decided to break rules and untie the strings, I'd be stuck pumping out babies for Jesus and Joseph Smith.
"save the only life that you could save", in other words: mend your life and allow your heart to beckon fearless again in the fog like a solitary lighthouse, and who knows, at some point maybe others will let themselves guided by the light, helping them to find the thin path among the dangerous and sharp rocks. Sensible words coming from such a sensible person. Beautiful stream of thoughts for today. Thank you 🙏
Beautiful.
Ahhhh……
Mary Olover does that, right?
This floored me. I've loved a smattering of Mary Oliver, but hadn't encountered this one before - and it perfectly captures the ethos of my own lived experience. Just goosebumps.
That woman had an uncanny genius.
Classic ✍️
As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful. They are the things that fill our lives with comfort and our hearts with gladness -- just the pure air to breathe and the strength to breath it.
So timely.
May I recommend a Netflix show titled: Pernille. Any woman that has tried her very best in the face of life, with no control of the events or people that float in and out of "the house" one lives in, will adore and cry in the watching. And, any men who are brave enough to watch and perhaps see themselves truly, will learn.