Heavy

Going along and going along...and then wham. Today I was tired and my back was sore. Mid-morning I couldn't be up any longer, so I laid down on my bed just for a moment. I fell asleep for an hour. I can't remember the last time I laid down during the day without being sick. I only do that when there isn't anything else I can do. And today was one of those days.

I've been meaning to look through the books I have of Mary Oliver's poetry because the perfect one always shows itself. Tonight was no exception.

Heavy

by Mary Oliver

That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hand in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent,

and my laughter,

as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

"It's not the weight you carry

but how you carry it--

books, bricks, grief--

it's all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,

put it down."

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?

Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?

How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe

also troubled--

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

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