A Voice From I Don’t Know Where

A Voice From I Don’t Know Where

It seems you love this world very much.
“Yes, I said. “This beautiful world.”

And you don’t mind the mind, that keeps you
busy all the time with its dark and bright wonderings?
“No, I’m quite used to it. Busy, busy,
all the time.”

And you don’t mind living with those questions,
I mean the hard ones, that no one can answer?
“Actually, they’re the most interesting.”

And you have a person in your life whose hand
you like to hold?
“Yes, I do.”

It must surely, then, be very happy down there
in your heart.
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

– Mary Oliver in Felicity, 2015 –

This wasn’t my original selection for my first Friday photo and poem for this new year. Initially, I was moved by Gregory Orr’s “Aftermath Inventory,” a short, unflinchingly exquisite poem from his collection, The Last Love Letter I Will Ever Write (2019), one posted this week on another poet’s site. It was the final line “My scars?/Someday/They might shine/Brighter than stars.” that stirred because of how I and many are feeling about this cusp of ending and beginning.

I chose not to write my “irregular” regular Monday post which would have dropped on New Year’s Day. Enough inspiring, heartful, hopeful, earnest prayers, blessings, quotes, and memes that I had nothing to offer to the mix, not wanting to dilute those kind and loving intentions. Though can there ever be too many prayers and blessings? Considering Orr’s poem, I thought of it as a humble gesture of my acknowledgment of the suffering of others, close and far, in war, illness, climate disaster, bereavement, poverty, homelessness, addiction. To stand in that unflinchingly, sorrowfully. Grateful for the hands I have to hold, for this world I still find utterly beautiful, loving it very much.

Many times, I start the year with a word. Choosing to forego the practice this year, life had other plans. Sitting one morning having my conversation with God, an Anne Lamott kind of help, thanks, wow conversation, I found myself inhaling to the word “comfort,” exhaling to “gratitude.” Over the days, it’s morphed to asking for grace on the in breath and giving gratitude on the out breath. Words, a mantra, a grounding for my being, body, and breath whispered many times a day. A voice from I don’t know where, or I do, having asked and been heard.

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends.

May this new year bring you all that is good and true and beautiful, with grace and gratitude aplenty, and the courage and compassion to withstand its inevitable heartache and challenge.