from my porch right now, life feels exquisite. the morning light, the breeze, the clarity of dry air, the promise of another day. another week. the week of transition. the end of the summer, the beginning of a new school year. another meeting about rose- zoe in a classroom. a lot to could happen this week- or nothing- and things i have no idea about will unfold, or begin, or end.
yesterday bryn asked when God was born. i had a moment. one of the moments when you try to wrap your mind around something outside of your mind- when you try to imagine infinity- when you try to remove the bounds of time and step out of this dimension.
'God wasn't born bryn, he just was, always.'
he looked appropriately puzzled, but it registered as very possible. because when you are five- you can still engage in the mystery.
how can something not begin? and not end? starting and finishing is all we know. time is. it moves. again i felt my smallness- that there is so much we don't know, or understand, or even have the capacity to grasp. i guess that is why we so often choose not to believe. belief is risky. admitting we don't know is threatening. keeping our system closed - keeping things in this world- limiting them to our understanding- that maintains our sense of control, kind of.
but then we let go of the mystery. we lose embracing possibility and space and timelessness. so i choose to hold my smallness, to be okay with my limitedness, to trust that deep knowing that whispers inside: there is more.
here we are. today we live in this time, in these bodies, and we still must ask the question- what will we do with our one wild and precious life? with this wild and precious day?
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?
- mary oliver
yesterday bryn asked when God was born. i had a moment. one of the moments when you try to wrap your mind around something outside of your mind- when you try to imagine infinity- when you try to remove the bounds of time and step out of this dimension.
'God wasn't born bryn, he just was, always.'
he looked appropriately puzzled, but it registered as very possible. because when you are five- you can still engage in the mystery.
how can something not begin? and not end? starting and finishing is all we know. time is. it moves. again i felt my smallness- that there is so much we don't know, or understand, or even have the capacity to grasp. i guess that is why we so often choose not to believe. belief is risky. admitting we don't know is threatening. keeping our system closed - keeping things in this world- limiting them to our understanding- that maintains our sense of control, kind of.
but then we let go of the mystery. we lose embracing possibility and space and timelessness. so i choose to hold my smallness, to be okay with my limitedness, to trust that deep knowing that whispers inside: there is more.
here we are. today we live in this time, in these bodies, and we still must ask the question- what will we do with our one wild and precious life? with this wild and precious day?
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?
- mary oliver
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