Mindful
by Mary OliverOriginal Language English
Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for --
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world --
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant --
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these --
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
 | -- from Why I Wake Early, by Mary Oliver |
<<Previous Poem | More Poems by Mary Oliver | Next Poem >>
/ Photo by Loyal O.A.K. /
Every so often I come across a poem by Mary Oliver I haven't read in a few years, and rereading it I get to say, "Wow!" once again.
Read this poem a few times. Each statement just rings in the air.
Sometimes I can appreciate a poem more fully when I read it as if the line breaks weren't there, allowing me to really take in the meaning and imagery (then, when I reread with awareness of the line breaks once again, I can insert the since of rhythm and stillness they imply)...
Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight...
that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light.
Mm.
It was what I was born for -- to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world --
That's such a great line, isn't it? "To lose myself inside this soft world."
to instruct myself over and over in joy, and acclamation.
Think about what she is saying. There is a fundamental delight to the encounters and experiences of each day -- but we must continuously "instruct" ourselves in it. Each time we recognize that joy, we are learning. The opposite is also true: each time we ignore it, we are forgetting.
Nor am I talking about the exceptional, the fearful, the dreadful, the very extravagant -- but of the ordinary, the common, the very drab, the daily presentations.
I think this is poems true epiphany. The delight she speaks of, the magic in the day, is not discovered through having some sort of extraordinary experience. It is, surprisingly, in "the ordinary, the common," the eventless moments.
How do we see? The title tells us -- through being Mindful. Through paying attention. Through stillness of mind, accompanied by relaxed, open awareness. It is then that the day's delight reveals itself and we come to see even the most mundane moment for the immense landscape truly it is.
Oh, good scholar, I say to myself, how can you help but grow wise with such teachings as these --
The day is teaching us. Are we being a good scholar? Are we drinking in the joy given to us? It is there, when we are mindful:
the untrimmable light of the world, the ocean's shine, the prayers that are made out of grass?
Have a beautiful day, noticing the untrimmable light of the world!
