It is so good to see the buds appearing on the branches and the first flowers pushing their way through the soil. Nature is full of positive energy and we too are part of that.
Be ahead of all parting, as though it already were behind you, like the winter that has just gone by. For among these winters there is one so endlessly winter that only by wintering through it all will your heart survive.
Rilke
Some thoughts prompted somewhat by celebrating a birthday, the passing of time, and another poem by Mary Oliver. A lot of the time I do not have answers to the questions that arise in me or to why things have happened. But increasingly, as the poet describes, I do not dwell too long on them as they have a capacity to stir up discontent. I prefer now not to try to put names or words on my journey, but to keep my heart moving towards an interior openness, or, in the image the poem uses, to walk in an unnamed broad field. To let in space and the vastness of the world. All I can do is open up; what happens afterwards is not within my control. I will just try to welcome it. Life is an adventure, that continually surprises. Its joy and freshness lie there.
How did it come to be
that I am no longer young
and the world that keeps time
in its own way has just been born?
I don’t have the answers
and anyway I have become suspicious
of such questions,
and as for hope, that tender advisement,
even that
I’m going to leave behind.
I’m just going to put on
my jacket, my boots,
I’m just going to go out
to sleep all this night
in some unnamed, flowered corner
of the pasture.
When today you have doubts and fears, why not follow the advice in this Mary Oliver poem. To look at nature all around you – the buds beginning to appear, the early flowers blooming – and see there a support for your inner self.
Oh, my dear heart,
My own dear heart,
Full of hesitations,
Questions, choice of directions,
Look at the world.
Behold the morning glory,
the meanest flower,
the ragweed, the thistle.
Look at the grass.
Mary Oliver, The Singular and Cheerful Life
In our daily life, our steps are burdened with anxieties and fears. Life itself seems to be a continuous chain of insecure feelings, and so our steps lose their natural easiness. [However] Our earth is truly beautiful. There is so much graceful, natural scenery along paths and roads around the earth! Do you know how many forest paths there are, paved with colorful leaves, offering cool and shade? They are all available to us, yet we cannot enjoy them because our hearts are not trouble-free, and our steps are not at ease.
When you practice walking meditation, you go for a stroll. You have no purpose or direction in space or time. The purpose of walking meditation is walking itself. Going is important, not arriving. Walking meditation is not a means to an end; it is an end. Each step is life; each step is peace and joy. That is why we don’t have to hurry. That is why we slow down. We seem to move forward, but we don’t go anywhere; we are not drawn by a goal. Thus we smile while we are walking.
Walking meditation is learning to walk again with ease.
Thich Nhat Hahn
It is a beautiful morning here, and as I said, being Irish, the Spring season has already started for me. This Mary Oliver poem captures the day perfectly. It shows how attention to what is present in any moment, especially in the beauty of nature, and having the space to taste and hear it, leads to a deep joy in life. It is not always possible with the troubles and hassles of work, so we should take her advice: Go outside and just look, listen. Life is good.
It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves—
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness—
and that’s when it happened,
when I seemed to float, to be, myself, a wing or a tree—
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing—
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them
were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed, so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn’t last
for more than a few moments.
It’s one of those magical places wise people like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
is that, once you’ve been there, you’re there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.
Perhaps the truth depends upon a walk around the lake.
Wallace Stevens
Mindfulbalance 