I remember living in Alaska and camping in the mountains, falling asleep under the stars, feeling the wind brush over my skin, and listening to the beautiful words of Mary Oliver read by my dear sister @lioneclarephoto.
The world lost a beautiful soul today. Mary Oliver believed that poetry didn’t need to be super fancy. She had the ability to find magic in the seemingly unremarkable moments of life. To get us to slow down and to notice the beauty of the world around us. She beckoned us to remember ourselves and forget ourselves at the same time. Her words have quite frankly changed my life.
“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 the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full 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”
When Death Comes
(Thank you @jedidiahjenkins
for sharing this poem today)