“maybe death isn’t darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us — as soft as feathers”
~ Mary Oliver
How I let a treasure like Mary Oliver slip through my fingers, I’ll never know. It’s an excellent example of realizing how very much I do not know. The internet has been filled with loving tributes to this gentle woman with the expansive heart…her pen trimming away the excesses of flowery verse and going straight for the pit of your stomach. Her words are like magic…painting pictures of love and kindness and tenderness. Nature was her cathedral. Poetry was her torch.
Oliver loved Whitman and Emerson, Shelley and Keats. Growing up in a dysfunctional home in Ohio, she ultimately settled in the wilds of New England, wandering through her woods and harbor…taking notes and penning phrases along the way. She has been compared to Emily Dickinson. Her poetry is filled with both darkness and joyous light. Her life partner, Molly Malone Cook, was her constant companion for over forty years, as well as her literary agent. After Molly’s death in 2005, Oliver continued on in Provincetown, Massachusetts until finally relocating to Florida. She rarely gave interviews because she valued her personal privacy and wished for her work to speak for itself. Mary Jane Oliver passed away on January 17, 2019 of lymphoma. And the world lost a valuable treasure.
In researching Oliver’s work, I became introspective. How often do we think, once we have arrived at “a certain age”, that we somehow have attained a level of knowledge that we can, at the very least, term “well rounded”? I know a little bit about a lot of stuff, but there is SO much out there I haven’t a clue about. We cannot possibly learn everything, but how sad that I didn’t know Mary Oliver and her brilliant poetry during times in my life it might have soothed my heart. How joyful that I still have the opportunities to continue learning and growing.
We are but a sum of our life’s experiences, are we not? The other night, I had a troubling dream. A recurring dream about a hopeless situation which will never be resolved nor totally understood. Not in this lifetime anyway. And whenever I have this dream, I am left feeling an ache in my heart…bereft over a loss I had little control over. It leaves me out of sorts for days and colors my every interaction, thus leaving the stains of old hurts smeared onto others who have no knowledge of my pain. It’s unfair and senseless. As I drove to town yesterday, I had a conversation with God. I asked Him to please step in and be an intermediary…to block this dream, and even the thoughts of the events that precipitate it. To take away the memories that come back and haunt me year after year. As I pleaded with God, I literally felt the old, familiar ache physically leave my heart. A weight was lifted and the cloud in my mind dissipated. I immediately thanked Him. Then…I let it go.
Poetry. Prose. Words. Prayers. God. They have such power to release you from the bondage of the past…if you let them. If you feel them and taste them and speak them. They can breathe life back into the sore places of your soul. ❤️
“If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”
1 Corinthians 13:1-3 ESV