I can already declare this seclusion to be a major success! Why? Because not only have I successfully slowed way down, I actually got to bed by 9:00pm last night!
What you have to understand is that I don’t believe I’ve gone to bed that early ever in my adult life. Well, okay, maybe if I was desperately ill or super-jetlagged but that’s it.
Going to bed so early meant I was up early enough to watch the sunrise, without even trying.
Which reminded me of this Mary Oliver poem I discovered right before going into seclusion. Quite apropos.
Someone paired the above quote with a poem by Mary Oliver and the combination really hit home for me.
The Wisest Thing I Know Ten times a day something happens to me like this – some strengthening throb of amazement – some good sweet empathic ping and swell. This is the first, the wildest and the wisest thing I know: that the soul exists and is built entirely out of attentiveness. -Mary Oliver
Many years ago at Science of Mind I learned another way of stating this powerful truth: Where attention goes, energy flows.
It makes sense to me that this is how we become (and how our soul-being is built) according to what we pay attention to.
This one’s for my hubby, Ramesha. And me, too, of course. We’re both working on remembering that worrying and stressing about things never ever leads us to the superconscious solutions we seek.
So, time for some wisdom from Mary Oliver.
I Worried I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn as it was taught, and if not how shall I correct it? Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, can I do better? Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows can do it and I am, well, hopeless. Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it, am I going to get rheumatism, lockjaw, dementia? Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing. And gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang. —by Mary Oliver
I heard this amazing recording of “The Last Rose of Summer” and it touched something very deep inside me. It’s not just that my friend, Sofia Sala, has an incredible voice and exquisite artistry. It’s the depth of feeling that she conveys through the words and the music.
Then, not more than thirty minutes later, I read on another friend’s Facebook profile this poem by Mary Oliver titled, “When Death Comes.” It felt like a one-two punch of profound depth combined with extreme beauty.
I’ve been reflecting on both all day.
When Death Comes When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox;
when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
THE GIFT Be still, my soul, and steadfast. Earth and heaven both are still watching though time is draining from the clock and your walk, that was confident and quick, has become slow.
So, be slow if you must, but let the heart still play its true part. Love still as once you loved, deeply and without patience. Let God and the world know you are grateful. That the gift has been given. –Mary Oliver
I know it’s kind of random, but I felt to share this poem tonight. No special reason; I simply love Mary Oliver and this really spoke to me.
Earth and heaven both are still watching…
And I am indeed grateful… That the gift has been given.
For once I’m writing my blog post before noon. Why? Because inspiration hit early for once!
My friend, Lisa — who feels, as do I, a deep love for the poetry of Mary Oliver — shared a poem that really spoke to me today. And I felt to distill its message down to these words to live by: Go easy; be filled with light; shine.
Trees remind us that we, too, have come into the world to do this. But how quickly we forget…
WHEN I AM AMONG THE TREES When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”
@2006 by Mary Oliver Published by Beacon Press in Thirst, p.4
