Mary Oliver Is A Saint
Two excerpts from the Gospel of Mary—Mary Oliver, that is.
She’s one of the best—nothing short of a saint in my mind—and I’ll never get tired of hearing her poetry.
You may have heard these picks before but I’ve stopped apologizing for sharing poems or stories more than once because each new visitation sheds new light, relative to where you are in body, mind, and spirit when you read it.
So if you’ve heard these poems before … you’re welcome!
All Things Are Inventions of Holiness
Today, I want to talk about the idea that all things are inventions of holiness, though some are more rascally our troubling than others and that we actively fill our cup of gladness as we learn to see the world in its beauty for exactly what it is.
Sadly, as a child Mary Oliver suffered great abuse but found safety in being outside. As she explored the outdoors she discovered the majesty of this world and eventually developed a language to express this soul-expanding awe through poetry, a veritable spirit she shares with all of us.
Though she has passed onto another world, her words live on and continue to enlighten minds and hearts. What a generous gift she has given to me personally and I would be remiss if I didn’t share the love with two poems that are in my heart today.
Here’s the first poem:
The Wren From Carolina
by Mary Oliver
Just now the wren from Carolina buzzed
through the neighbor’s hedge
a line of grace notes I couldn’t even write down
much less sing.
Now he lifts his chestnut colored throat
and delivers such a cantering praise–
for what?
For the early morning, the taste of the spider,
for his small cup of life
that he drinks from every day, knowing it will refill.
All things are inventions of holiness.
Some more rascally than others.
I’m on that list too,
though I don’t know exactly where.
But, every morning, there is my own cup of gladness,
and there’s that wren in the hedge, above me,
with his blazing song.
I love this part:
All things are inventions of holiness
Some more rascally than others.
I’m on that list too,
though I don’t know exactly where.
I would say that Mary Oliver definitely lives on the list that is blessed but rascally.
I love the reminder that all things are inventions of holiness because it reminds me that despite my opinions of things, systems, and certain people, somehow, everything is on the holy list.
This idea is certainly in line with Tantra, the yogic school of thought that resonates deepest with me and my teachings. Tantra says everything in the Universe is holy and that the unified everything, the Singularity, cannot be divided into holy or unholy.
I believe that a big part of our journey as human beings is to understand and make some sort of peace with that paradox.
And perhaps our greatest work in this lifetime is to learn how we also exist on that list of holiness.
Lastly, I love how such a simple yet profound thing such as a small bird calling out his celebration for life from the neighbor’s hedge can be such a stark and potent reminder of the joy of life and fill our own cup of gladness.
Next, I want to share another poem which grants a holiness to something a bit more difficult.
The next poem is called
Maker of All Things, Even Healings
By Mary Oliver
All night
under the pines
the fox
moves through the darkness
with a mouthful of teeth
and a reputation for death
which it deserves.
In the spicy villages of the mice
he is famous,
his nose
in the grass
is like an earthquake,
his feet on the path
is a message so absolute
that the mouse, hearing it,
makes himself
as small as he can
as he sits silent
or, trembling, goes on
hunting among the grasses
for the ripe seeds.
Maker of All Things,
including appetite,
including stealth,
including the fear that makes
all of us sometime or other,
flee for the sake
of our small and precious lives,
let me abide in your shadow—
let me hold on
to the edge of your robe
as you determine
what you must let be lost
and what will be saved.
Damn, this stabs me right in the heart and makes my eyes sting with tears.
Because, in all of us exists both the fox and the mouse.
The title of this piece always gives me pause: Maker of All Things, Even Healings.
For me, understanding that some things will be lost and others will be saved ultimately heals me from the false and naive notion that life is only beautiful if it turns out rosy, exactly like I’d always hoped—that happy is too small a word for the beautiful and textured experience we call life.
We become “healed” when we understand that all parts of the world, including ourselves, live in the house of the holy, that life is precious, and that despite life’s fears, each day we must continue to “hunt among the grasses for the ripe seeds.”
This truth is echoed by another prophet of poetry, Wendell Berry who says,
Whether by the singing of a bird in the hedge or by a visitation by something more difficult, may we all learn to see that everything belongs on the list of holiness, including the challenging things, and most especially ourselves.
