I just spent the weekend at the Pacifica Graduate Institute in Santa Barbara, participating in a workshop. It was a conference on Dream Tending led by Stephen Aizenstat.
While there I was introduced to a poet that I cannot believe I did not know of until now. She speaks my thoughts, shares my love for all of the beauty I see in the world around me. Kind of like the way Vivien Maierr became my friend along Chicago city streets, Mary Oliver is now my friend in whose ear I can whisper my everyday awe; the awe that I often feel I bore others with.
The workshop teacher, Stephen, read us some of her poetry - but the true grace came when my friend, Charlene, pulled Oliver's book Blue Iris from the shelf in the bookstore, opened it to a certain page and handed it to me saying, "This poem reminds me of you. I think this is how you are." And then I read it. And then my heart sang. "Really?" I thought. And a huge smile crossed my face. I was flattered beyond. Way beyond. It is who I want to be.
How Would You Live Then?
What if a hundred rose-breasted grosbeaks
blew in circles around your head?
What if the mockingbird came into the house with you
and became your advisor?
What if the bees filled your walls with honey
and all you needed to do was ask them
and they would fill the bowl?
What if the brook slid downhill just past your bedroom window
so you could listen to its slow prayers as you fell asleep?
What if the stars began to shout their names,
or to run this way and that way above the clouds?
What if you painted a picture of a tree,
and the leaves began to rustle,
and a bird cheerful sang from its painted branches?
What if you suddenly saw
that the silver of water
was brighter than the silver of money?
What if you finally saw that the sunflowers,
turning toward the sun
all day and every day -- who knows how,
but they do it --
were more precious,
more meaningful than gold?
~ Mary Oliver ~
That one held me in a personal way, but this one that was read to the group at the end of our weekend together was equally as moving:
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
