Mindful

Every day

I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight, 
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen, 

to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy, 
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional, 

the fearful, the dreadful, 
the very extravagant — 
but of the ordinary, 
the common, the very drab, 

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar, 
I say to myself, 
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light

of the world, 
the ocean’s shine, 
the prayers that are made
out of grass? 

- Mary Oliver

To be alive

When we were 

children we used to think 

that when we were grown up 

we would no longer be vulnerable. 

But to grow up 

is to accept 

vulnerability. 

To be alive 

is 

to be vulnerable. 

—Madeleine L’Engle

The Greatest Victory

For all that we speak

as a culture and a people,

of victory and defeat,

of good and evil,

of hero and coward, 

it is none of it quite true.

The truth is that the greatest

victory is to endure with grace

and humor, to stay in the game,

to achieve humility.

- Brian Doyle, 

One Long River of Song:

Notes on Wonder

(tip of the hat to Brendan Leonard's most recent post on his always excellent website)

Variation on the Word Sleep

I would like to watch you sleeping, 
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you, 
sleeping. I would like to sleep 
with you, to enter 
your sleep as its smooth dark wave 
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent 
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves 
with its watery sun & three moons 
towards the cave where you must descend, 
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver 
branch, the small white flower, the one 
word that will protect you 
from the grief at the center 
of your dream, from the grief 
at the center. I would like to follow 
you up the long stairway 
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands 
to where your body lies 
beside me, and you enter 
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

- Margaret Atwood, 1939

In the Storm

Some black ducks
were shrugged up
on the shore.
It was snowing

hard, from the east,
and the sea
was in disorder.
Then some sanderlings,

five inches long
with beaks like wire,
flew in,
snowflakes on their backs,

and settled
in a row
behind the ducks --
whose backs were also

covered with snow --
so close
they were all but touching,
they were all but under

the roof of the duck's tails,
so the wind, pretty much,
blew over them.
They stayed that way, motionless,

for maybe an hour,
then the sanderlings,
each a handful of feathers,
shifted, and were blown away

out over the water
which was still raging.
But, somehow,
they came back

and again the ducks,
like a feathered hedge,
let them
crouch there, and live.

If someone you didn't know
told you this,
as I am telling you this,
would you believe it?

Belief isn't always easy.
But this much I have learned --
if not enough else --
to live with my eyes open.

I know what everyone wants
is a miracle.
This wasn't a miracle.
Unless, of course, kindness --

as now and again
some rare person has suggested --
is a miracle.
As surely it is.

-- Mary Oliver