Precious Life

A couple of months ago, as I was wasting my time dipping my gaze into one internet black hole after another, I stumbled upon a small gem. It often takes me longer than I'd like to fall asleep, and whoever it was (I wish I could remember) proposed choosing a poem, and reading it aloud just before settling into bed for the night. They said to choose just one poem a month, to allow time for the rhythm and message to settle into your brain. 

I found the idea intriguing; figured it was worth a try. So, one night I picked up the handy-dandy volume of Mary Oliver poetry (title: Devotions) that just happened to be at my bedside, and let it fall open to a random page.

Sometimes, random doesn't feel very random. Sometimes, the words on a random page are just the ones your heart needs to hear. Sometimes, I feel like the Universe has seen me, wandering a bit lost, and decided to give me a little affirmation, a boost, a hug, even. I am short on hugs these days.

I read the poem, 'The Summer Day', that night, and every night for the next thirty days. After a week or so, I barely needed to glance at the page, and instead of mulling over my day as I laid down, the words of the poem kept circling through my brain.

Who did make the world? And swans and black bears and grasshoppers - what beautiful diversity! Have I ever really seen a grasshopper? No, not the way she saw that one. Do I know how to be idle and blessed?  No. I don't. But perhaps I could learn to be. I am learning how to pay attention, and God knows I'm good at the falling down part. 

Yes, everything dies at last and too soon, both in my life, and in the COVID19-ravaged world outside my walls. I don't know exactly what a prayer is, but I pray every day anyways. My prayer has no definable words, it's mostly a yearning for Peace. I'm not even sure to what Source I direct the prayer, but my heart sends it to the Universe anyways, hoping against hope I will be heard.

And my life IS wild and precious. I can't see much in this fog I've been stumbling around in for the last year and more, but the days I am able glimpse the value I bring to the world are good days. I'll keep working on that plan thing, incorporating the concept of being idle and blessed. I think I'd like to be idle and blessed...

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life? -- Mary Oliver

P.S. If you'd like to read the entire poem, click here:

https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/poet-laureate/poet-laureate-projects/poetry-180/all-poems/item/poetry-180-133/the-summer-day/ 

I don't have permission to reprint the entire text, but they do...

P.P.S. It's working - I fall asleep faster than I did before embarking on this path.

Note to self: It wouldn't be working so well if the volume of poetry I'd picked up happened to be the one by Edgar Allen Poe, which is also in my bedroom. A great poet, yes, but his are not images I care to mull over as I fall asleep. Good to know for future reference.