I Cannot Read Mary Oliver if…

Oh . . .

I cannot read Mary Oliver if someone is about to open my office door . . .

No, not when the door needs to open upon a still, calm Presence . . .

I could not bear to be laid bare before them; and this is what her words do to me . . .

When I read Mary Oliver all I am is a puddle of wordless wonder with a pile of discarded clothes, my exoskeleton, scattered about my feet . . .

Mindful, by Mary Oliver

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 is 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 shrine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?


© Amy Pierce and In Spiritual Wonder, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Amy Pierce and In Spiritual Wonder with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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