the other day i got news that a friend’s daughter had passed on. so i sent a note, and this was part of the letter that came in return:
“The ospreys are crying plaintively. They seem to understand.”
everything in me had to rise up to hold back the sea of sorrow. then i came across this poem by Mary Oliver:
Count the Roses
Count the roses, red and fluttering.
Count the roses, wrinkled and salt.
Each with its yellow lint at the center.
Each with its honey pooled and ready.
Do you have a question that can’t be answered?
Do the stars frighten you by their heaviness
and their endless number?
Does it bother you, that mercy is so difficult to
understand?
For some souls it’s easy; they lie down on the sand
and are soon asleep.
For others, the mind shivers in its glacial palace,
and won’t come.
Yes, the mind takes a long time, is otherwise occupied
than by happiness, and deep breathing.
Now, in the distance, some bird is singing.
And now I have gathered six or seven deep red,
half-opened cups of petals between my hands,
and now I have put my face against them
and now I am moving my face back and forth, slowly,
against them.
The body is not much more than two feet and a tongue.
Come to me, says the blue sky, and say the word.
And finally even the mind comes running, like a wild thing,
and lies down in the sand.
Eternity is not later, or in any unfindable place.
Roses, roses, roses, roses.
there is nothing like poetry
just nothing like it
when it comes to carving out the spaces of our hearts
to find a place to breathe
to hear
to know past knowing
to grasp the things
so far beyond
our grasp
and then there they are
hovering ever so softly
in the midst
opening inner eyes
to glean
to glimpse
life
timeless
never not present
none of us
missing
diminished
cut short
but shining out
in sharp relief
our reference
our Source
compelling
life
on eternity’s
terms
“not later
or in any unfindable place”
but dawning up
from the very midst
breaking through the winters
of grief
to see our lives
whole
and holy
in ever tender
illuming
glances
ushering
ushering
ushering
each other on
the air
resonating
its all presence
all accounted for
all conscious
of being
forever
loved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.” Luke 24
“O come and find, the Spirit saith,
The Truth that maketh all men free.
The world is sad with dreams of death.
Lo, I am Life, come unto Me.” Elizabeth Adams
“May the great Shepherd that “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,”
and binds up the wounds of bleeding hearts, just comfort,
encourage, and bless all who mourn.” Mary Baker Eddy
WhatsApp: joni overton-jung
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