i don’t know exactly how to describe it, but these days i feel there’s this looming sadness, this widening gap that’s settling into not only our history, but also into my head & my heart. maybe yours, too.
this gap of what was & what will be — what was for sure in june & what might be in 2021.
& no amount of scrolling, sleeping, reading, watching, heck, screaming or weeping can fill it. it’s like this gaping silence roaring in my soul — the uncertainty of right now is on fire inside me.
there’s a short little poem by mary oliver called “may” — it’s not may, i know, but it’s almost may & if i may, i’d like to share it with you.
she writes :
May, and among the miles of leafing,
blossoms storm out of the darkness —
windflowers and moccasin flowers. The bees
dive into them and I too, to gather
their spiritual honey. Mute and meek, yet theirs
is the deepest certainty that this existence too --
this sense of well-being, the flourishing
of the physical body — rides
near the hub of the miracle that everything
is a part of, is as good
as a poem or a prayer, can also make
luminous any dark place on earth.
gosh. i just love this poem.
& i guess the reason why i’m inclined to share it with you is because it gives me hope, the tangible kind that echoes the kind we can’t see.
flowers (the hope we can see) illuminating dark places (MILES of dark places) — & the flowers, it’s as if they hold a secret : Light will have the final word in all this deafening darkness.
darkness is what was, what is.
Light is what will be.
darkness is for sure happening.
Light is what will be.
see what hope does? what flowers do?
i can feel the sadness, the gap inside me quieting its growl. if even for a moment.
& in the meantime, we hold the royal responsibility to make luminous our little corner of the world & here’s another little secret i think mary wanted us to know : sometimes it doesn’t take all that much to light up a dark place. sometimes all you have to do is be.
the art of contentment makes luminous any dark place. just watch how the flowers do it.
i’m no flower, but i’m slowly learning the ways i can make luminous these often dark & heavy days :
+ lighting a candle
+ cleaning the kitchen
+ stirring milk into my tea
+ talking to a friend without looking at the time
+ leaving my phone in the other room
+ catching my thoughts before they spiral
+ blasting bonny light horseman
+ becoming a student of the sky & how it looks from my living room window
& really, this existence of illumination is wide & vast in its practice.
it’ll look different in the city than it does in the mountains than it does in the country than it does in the suburbs. but it can look like something & it can for sure light up any dark place on earth, whether it’s in my corner or yours.
let’s have at it.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.