I’ve few words to share today.
In fact, the post that I wrote I decided not to share. It was, as they say, a little too ‘heavy’.
The thing is we’re in such a hurry to get somewhere — where, I’m not sure — that we fail to recognise that our life is here, in this moment, which often feels or can feel brittle and ennui-infused.
I’m not suggesting and neither would I wish it be taken this way that I’m finger-wagging you to do anything — i.e. slow down — but I think we can all marvel in the reverie of the moment but only if we let ourselves off the meathook of expectation that comes from living in this ‘always-on’ epoch.
Anyhow, I’ll leave you with a wonderful poem from Mary Oliver that chimes squarely with and a lot better than today’s pithy post.
Enjoy.
Julian
THE OAK TREE LOVES PATIENCE
— Mary Oliver
The oak tree
loves patience,
the mountain is
still looking,
as it has for centuries,
for a word to say about
the gradual way it
slides itself
back to the
world below
to begin again,
in another life,
to be fertile.
When the wind blows
the grass
whistles and whispers
in myths and riddles
and not in our language
but one far older.
The sea is the sea is
always the sea.
These things
you can count on
as you walk about the world
happy or sad,
talky or silent, making
weapons, love, poems.
The briefest of fires.
Patience
“The briefest of fires.” Quiet way that line is speaking to me so loudly this morning I’m not so sure. Three big books of Mary Oliver on the shelf and yet I never feel the urge to dive in. I wonder why? Because her poems always do something to me. Hmm.
“Finger wagging” ~ what a lovely phrase ! I’ll remember that one and try and use it for sure. Thank you.