Little Summer Poem
Touching the Subject of Faith
by Mary Oliver
I listen and look
under the sun’s brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can’t hear
anything, I can’t see anything —
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats,
nor the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
the leafy fields
grow taller and thicker —
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk.
And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing —
I am deaf too
to the tick of the leaves,
the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet —
all of it
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.
And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt
swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn’s beautiful body
is sure to be there.
Special thanks to Beth, Owl's Daughter for sending me the poem and to Mary Oliver for her always inspiring words.
The husband has long done the grocery shopping so I just have to make to a list. I have an easy existence in many ways.
We've had a lot of rain and the garden harvest has been abundant. Strawberries were sweet but not terribly plentiful, cabbage, cauliflower and brocooli did well. Cut a mix of greens (mustard, chard, kale and collards) to cook up later. Pulled a few carrots yesterday and will roast beets and carrots tomorrow. Beans are coming on. Oh and the snow peas were great.
I have amused myself by relearning Spanish and having a go at German and Danish. Find it absolutely fascinating and fun and can pass a lot of time with that.
In the complaints department: My back hurts a lot, gardening while it seems like fun is hard work. My anxiety has been out the roof, my sleep erratic and my breaking point fragile. Too much cosmic angst!
Of course, I'm always reading. Currently the first in a series by Barbara Neely's "Blanche on the Lam." Had this book before the social unrest and only when I started to read it, did I discover the author was a black woman and an activist. Synchroncity.. I love it.
I'm getting restless and would like to travel, but really is there anywhere I want to go? or could go for that matter. I try to remain hopeful that lasting change will occur in this country, change that brings equality,less violence and all those other things I've wanted to happen since the 60's.
I do often read what everyone is writing so as not to totally lose touch even though I know the best way is to be regular about participation.
In all these days of quiet I have enjoyed watching the spiral dance of humankind
We react in the traditional ways when faced with crisis, seeking answers from our oracles and flocking to our healers.
Though we want to believe hope is the answer, balm for our woes.
TRUTH seems to be a better solution to calm shit down.
And, then the wrong song somehow showed up, but I have fixed that now..