Sometimes, one has to just stand aside and let the professionals handle things.
This post stands for one of those times.
*Personal Cultural Observation* When it comes to death, there’s a huge difference between how most Americans approach it, and how it’s viewed by most Japanese people. That being said, there was a practice in feudal Japan wherein one could take their own life as the ultimate “signature” upon a demand for justice, or an investigation into wrongdoing, or any sort of out-of-the-ordinary cultural norm not afforded to, perhaps, someone of a different caste or level within their own caste (remember, it’s FEUDAL Japan we’re talkin’ about here).
In the spirit of that “ultimate signature” I believe, in my heart of hearts, that Mary Oliver, with the “auspicious timing" of her death, has, with a microscopic particle of her infinite spirit, signed today’s post, outside of time and space, with her poem below.
Let us dedicate the merit of this blog post, as well as any growth or awakening that comes from it, to the spirit of the late Mary Oliver, of blessed memory, who left the MiddleWorld yesterday (1/17/2019). A legendary poet, remembered for her heart-touching words, and her own “wild and precious” life; may her new adventure in the AfterWorld be as beautiful, provocative, and enriching to all as her adventure was, here, with us.
Her poem, When Death Comes, says all there is to say about today’s theme.
This post stands for one of those times.
*Personal Cultural Observation* When it comes to death, there’s a huge difference between how most Americans approach it, and how it’s viewed by most Japanese people. That being said, there was a practice in feudal Japan wherein one could take their own life as the ultimate “signature” upon a demand for justice, or an investigation into wrongdoing, or any sort of out-of-the-ordinary cultural norm not afforded to, perhaps, someone of a different caste or level within their own caste (remember, it’s FEUDAL Japan we’re talkin’ about here).
In the spirit of that “ultimate signature” I believe, in my heart of hearts, that Mary Oliver, with the “auspicious timing" of her death, has, with a microscopic particle of her infinite spirit, signed today’s post, outside of time and space, with her poem below.
Let us dedicate the merit of this blog post, as well as any growth or awakening that comes from it, to the spirit of the late Mary Oliver, of blessed memory, who left the MiddleWorld yesterday (1/17/2019). A legendary poet, remembered for her heart-touching words, and her own “wild and precious” life; may her new adventure in the AfterWorld be as beautiful, provocative, and enriching to all as her adventure was, here, with us.
Her poem, When Death Comes, says all there is to say about today’s theme.
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins
from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when death comes, like an iceberg between
shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door of curiosity,
wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage
of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music
in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world
into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing
and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited
this world. *
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins
from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when death comes, like an iceberg between
shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door of curiosity,
wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage
of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music
in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world
into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing
and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited
this world. *
May her memory ALWAYS be a blessing.
(See y’all tomorrow)
*“When Death Comes” from "New and Selected Poems" (Beacon Press, Boston), 1992 by Mary Oliver
(See y’all tomorrow)
*“When Death Comes” from "New and Selected Poems" (Beacon Press, Boston), 1992 by Mary Oliver
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