I have found that among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver. The size and abundance of the gift should be important to the recipient, but not to the donor save that the best thing one can give is that which is appreciated.
– Maya Angelou, Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now (Goodreads)
It is essential to resist the depiction of history as the work of heroic individuals in order for people today to recognize their potential agency as part of an ever expanding community struggle.
— Angela Y. Davis, Freedom is a Constant Struggle (Haymarket Books)
Another by Mary Oliver to celebrate the first day of Fall and the autumnal equinox. Enjoy…
Fall Song
by Mary OliverAnother year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering backfrom the particular island
of this summer, this Now, that now is nowhereexcept underfoot, modlering
in that black subterranean castleof unovservable mysteries — roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. ThisI try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumnflares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay — how everything lives, shiftingfrom one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
In research material for our wedding ceremony, including vows, I picked up a couple of books of Mary Oliver’s poetry. A few pieces really amazed me and so I’m sharing them here.
The Plum Trees
Such richness flowing
through the branches of summer and intothe body, carried inward on the five
rivers! Disorder and astonishmentrattle your thoughts and your heart
cries for rest but don’tsuccumb, there’s nothing
so sensible as sensual inundation. Joyis a taste before
it’s anything else, and the bodycan lounge for hours devouring
the important moments. Listen,the only way
to tempt happiness into your mind is by taking itinto the body first, like small
wild plums.
This is the poem I would like read at my funeral service.
In Blackwater Woods
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillarsof light
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shouldersof the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, isnameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learnedin my lifetime
lends back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other sideis salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this worldyou must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold itagainst your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the times comes to let it go,
to let it go.