When Death Comes, by Mary Oliver
/I love the poet Mary Oliver. I’ve shared some of her poems here before, and this one moves me deeply every time. It’s very much how I’m feeling now. I don’t want to have just been a visitor here. I don’t want to run the same thought and kvetch programs until I have no more time left. I don’t want to live the same routine for 90 years then call it a day (I don’t, something I fought hard for and cultivate constantly. But when I did live like that it was terrifying and I knew I had to change.) Platitudes like “life is so short” and “be present” and “#gratitude” are constantly thrown around and have been rendered almost meaningless. Without deep contemplation and deliberate action and choices, all words are empty. How to live in a way that fully embodies and honors the time we are given in these lives and bodies? The answer is different for each of us in certain ways, and likely very similar in others. When we are caught in an existential crisis in which the true meaning of life feels far away, this is a good thing. Scary but good, since we are being redirected to seek what the soul knows is already true. The heart and mind take more time to catch up, and the body does what it’s instructed to do. It’s the last thing to know but the first thing to go. Poems are meant to stir up something inside. I’d love to know what this one makes you feel and think. How do we take what moves us and integrate it into this one great life? Our responses and stirrings are the voices of our deepest inner wisdom. We are always being asked to listen, and it’s wonderful when a few words brilliantly arranged on a page can guide us towards remembering what our spirit already knows.
