Hello All —

Summer temperatures arrived in Florida yesterday. So The Summer Day, by Mary Oliver, feels appropriate. And it’s one of my favorite poems.

I love Mary Oliver’s poetry — nature, personal awareness of ones place in the universe, the right to belong, to make choices, to experience a wake-up call, to think deeply and act on ones own behalf — all of this describes her poetry to me. (Two of my other favorite poems by her are The Journey and Wild Geese — so those may make an appearance here in the future).

The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Those last 2 lines. Wow.

When I was younger, I used to look at a quote on the wall of my therapist’s office which said something like: “Life. It’s not a dress rehearsal!” This poem makes me remember my gradual waking up to my own life –taking full responsibility for that life — in that office.

And yet…life and it’s busy-ness (and business) can hypnotize us into a daze of time passing and passing…of almost sleepwalking. Of dress-rehearsalizing it.

I don’t know about you, but it feels as if the crazy hamster wheel on which we were all running as fast as we could was a form of living life as a dress rehearsal. When I achieve this goal, then my real life will start. When I get through this tough period, then then life will begin at last.

Having that wheel come to a screeching halt is, among other things, an invitation.

That death and loss have entered our world so unexpectedly, so unwelcomely, is an invitation, too.

These are invitations to consider: what will we now do with our one and only wild, precious life?

I’d love to hear how this poem affects you.

Be well, wash your hands, and stay connected.

Lisa