Tree
Light
“...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 a while.'
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, and be filled
with
light, and to shine.'”
Mary
Oliver (“When I Am Among the Trees”)
Do you get tired of
reading about trees in this blog? I know you must. I do love them so,
but most of all, I love Mary Oliver's poetry. My friend, Sally,
posted this one on Facebook, and I'm so glad she did. I miss Mary's
light in this world. We all must try to shine together to make up for
one so bright not being here any more.
And she's so right (as
usual) about our distance from our own sense of ourselves as a source
of goodness and discernment in the world. We go around, most of us,
looking for a glimmer of light from someone else—a teacher, a guru,
a theologian, our therapist—you know—someone who has the right
credentials. But, I don't think they hand out credentials for
light—there's no Ph.D. in Light Bearing, as far as I know. We're
all expected to create our own, and not only create it, but shine it
around.
Mary Oliver is a perfect
example of someone who did just that. She was an unpretentious
person, who kept herself to herself, but saw the world in a way that
she knew others needed to see. So she wrote and wrote and wrote—her
light flowed out in the form of beautiful odes to creation, to birds
and trees and early morning light. She wrote, I'm sure, because she
had to, she couldn't do otherwise. But what a gift to share with all
generations forever.
You, too, have light to
shine. You may not be a guru—neither am I—but you have your own
life experience, your own loves and losses, and your own failures and
triumphs. And that's what creates light within us. We experience, we
grapple with, and eventually, if we keep at it, we come to terms with
our own life-lessons. Coming to terms is key here—and grappling. We
cannot run away, or deny, or blame others and still integrate the
experience enough to create a light within. We must face it, and deal
with it honestly. That's where the trees come in. They provide the
shade, and comfort, and grounded wisdom for us to begin to accept
ourselves as something similar to them.
Being like a tree is
something one can be proud of. If you trust them, as Mary Oliver did,
they will whisper to you, too. “Go and shed light,” they will
tell you. “You are like us, with plenty to spare.” Shine on,
people!
In the Spirit,
Jane
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