Included today are a poem by Mary Oliver and some of my recent photographs which are my attempts to find some tangible physical experiences to mirror the reflection going on inside myself. I've also included a piece I am working on regarding mindfulness.
Mindful
by Mary Oliver
Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for -
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
And a link to the Writer's Almanac which highlighted the poem.
On Being Present and Mindful
~~jkr
What is it to be mindful or present? I try to live in this way, but it is hard.
There are so many distractions, yet I know the moments when I achieve mindfulness and presence. As when I see the crow soar across the open field and am at once in awe, trying to imagine what view this bird sees. I feel mindful when I watch the way the water travels over the rocks in the river, creating eddies in which leaves perform their dance, or appreciating the way the water accentuates the rocks’ color, shape, line. Or at the town dump when a car drives past, I turn my head out of curiosity but not expecting to see anything in particular. It’s just a glance. It takes but an instant, but the glimpse I garner of the driver travels into my memory bank, though I have not asked it to do so, and matches this millisecond view of her profile to a person I have not seen in 17 years. Had I not been mindful and present, I should think I would have glanced at the car then turned my head back to take in the rest of the action at the town dump (and for those of you who don’t live in a small town, the dump is the place to be, the social microcosm of the town). But I was mindful and present and just as important, open -- ready, willing and able to accept to accept stimuli and information from my environment, the sights and sounds around me. I was open to letting my brain recognize this face 17 years past and place it for me. Who it was is not pertinent to this experience, except it was someone whom I cherish: a friend’s mother, a friend whose house I spent a great deal of time at through my teen years. I watched her for a moment just to be sure I had made the correct connection, then set out across the dump and as I drew close enough, called out her name. Once. Twice. She didn’t hear. I heard the tinkle of her laughter as she walked away from another person. “Betty!” Her body turned and I witnessed recognition wash over her face replaced by joy. She threw her arms open and walked toward me. A huge smile on her face. We hug and step back. “Oh I need another hug!” She tells me. The exchange of stories and journeys occurs along with the promise of a visit. But this unexpected meeting alone could satisfy me. I was mindful and present and open. Seeing and knowing the reason why I was meant to be here, at this moment. Mindful. Present. Open. Clarity.
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