MO ( / )


Every day
I see or hear
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?

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Comments (3)

This is a wonderful Buddhist poem. Jacquelyn, thanks for reminding me of Rohr.
A mushy-minded, personal manifesto, not a poem. The near-great Mary Oliver at her worst.
If you are particularly drawn to this poem, please check out a gentleman named Father Richard Rohr, OFM, a Franciscan (R. Catholic) of the New Mexico Province. He has written numerous works on contemplation, and recently delivered a speech about contemplation and the active life at Sewanee: The University of the South in which he refered to this poem by Mary Oliver. I think you will find it interesting.