Entries from November 17th, 2015

Just today

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

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Jackson’s Forest (detail)

The news media and Facebook tell me the world is broken, to pray for the brokenness of the world.

I am reading Mary Oliver’s Felicity (2015), a tender and remarkable collection of love poems to her life partner-lover, and to the trees, rivers, and change.

I am loverless–for how long who knows–but autumn is here, at least a little, and the yoga is good. There is chocolate and my new bicycle daring me to go anywhere, especially around the block at dusk. And those miracle friendships that endure whether I’m in love or not.

I am painting again, too, a childlike painting with colorful trees and chubby birds, in honor of my infant nephew Jackson, his innocence and simple delight.

In her famous poem The Summer Day,  Oliver says she doesn’t know what a prayer is, but she does know how to pay attention. I am paying attention. Which may be a form of prayer. Which may be a hint about how to love and how to tend the brokenness, in the world and in ourselves.

Everything That Was Broken

(by Mary Oliver, from Felicity)

Everything that was broken has

forgotten its brokenness. I live

now in a sky-house, through every

window the sun. Also your presence.

Our touching, our stories.  Earthy

and holy both. How can this be, but

it is. Every day has something in

it whose name is Forever.

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