How wonderful to return to church today after a several-week absence. How wonderful is Advent, the beginning, a fresh start. How hopeful I feel.
I had my Madeleine-and-me day on Friday, which was perfect as we were receiving a day of desperately needed rain. We stoked up the fire, had it burning all day; I slept in till I woke naturally; I gathered a stack of Madeleine's books, both first reads and rereads, and I went to it; drank lots of hot vanilla chai; gorgeous day, one my soul needed.
I've reread Moon by Night, which I haven't read since high school. It's funny what I did and did not remember of it. I recalled the book cover, a shot of two teens sitting on a national park-ey stone wall with colorful buttes and monoliths behind them. I recalled the difficult relationship stuff between Vicky and Zach. I recalled some of the small offhanded-but-important things various characters said to Vicky. I had managed to completely forget that the setting of the book is a country-crossing road trip. How did I forget that? My family did that kind of thing a lot in my growing up days. I was surprised I had forgotten, is all.
I'm reading Wintersong, which is a collection of Christmas-related readings by both Madeleine and her dear friend, Luci Shaw. Some beautiful, striking, thought-provoking work -- I'll comment more specifically later, when the spirit moves.
Today I'm moved to talk about Mary Oliver. My first introduction to Oliver was, strangely enough, from the AP English Language exam. Students were given a prose passage from her Blue Pastures (which I've not yet read) extolling the beauty/terror of both the great horned owl and sand dune roses. Incredible, visceral, powerful piece of writing. My students totally don't get it. (It's prompted me to work on nature-writers unit, for clearly these city kids need this, not only for deepening their reading skills but also to hone their own powers of observation and to minister to their souls.)
In any case, I was prompted to look her up, and I found she's better known as a poet, and a Pulitzer Prize- and National Book Award-winning poet at that. So I snatched up three or four of her books on Amazon and I'm just now diving in. Wow. And again I say Wow.
I made reference in an earlier post to my partner's and my serious discussions of moving out of the concrete jungle to someplace beautiful...and our determination to do it while we're still young enough to enjoy it. Then I read Oliver's poem, "When I am Among the Trees," and my soul shouted yes!
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, "Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."
--Mary Oliver, from Thirst
Amen, and amen.
