I wanted to do a piece to celebrate Mary Oliver. Mary Oliver whose words stir, challenge, question, inspire and so much more. So many of her poems written inside my body, heart and soul. And, yet, at the root of all her words is the sometimes subtle, more often direct call to live life. That it is not something outside ourselves. Not something we have. But what we are. Why we take breath. Why we sing. Why we explore. Why we love. All of it. We are love. We are life. Inextricably, magically this one wild and precious life.
There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.
Like, telling someone you love them.
Or giving your money away, all of it.
Your heart is beating, isn’t it?
You’re not in chains, are you?
There is nothing more pathetic than caution
when headlong might save a life,
even, possibly, your own.
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own
I held my breath as we do sometimes to stop time when something wonderful has touched us…
I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have
short, beatific lives. They offer
much pleasure. There is
nothing in the world that can be said
Sad, isn’t it, that all they can kiss
is the air.
Yes, yes! We are the lucky ones.
– Mary Oliver