Monday, February 13, 2012

this life of ours.

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver

I love this poem. Every time I read it it reinvigorates my sense of curiosity and adventure. This life is so fleeting, it scares me to think about all I want to do and how I won't get to do it all thanks to work/money/timing, etc. I guess I have to look at my realistic life and do things that make me happy. I read something which has also stuck with me- to stop looking for love and instead do what you love and it will find you. Maybe that should be my philosophy for this spring; get outside, enjoy art shows and concerts and volunteer more, and do things that make me happy, and in turn maybe I'll meet someone great, or just feel better about what I'm doing with my life! Time will tell.

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