On a positive note…

Beyond my usual refrains about just how awesome the world is, and getting better…

(we may soon be able to print artificial organs with 3d printers…just wrap your mind around that)

I recently stumbled across these two poems by Mary Oliver:

The Summer Day

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?

How beautiful.  What a gorgeous way of saying that true prayer, meditation, peace of mind, and happiness, come in the form of simply appreciating all of the small beautiful things and their smaller, more beautiful, details here on earth.  What we have here, in our terrestrial habitat, is magic.  And what a waste any other form of prayer would be, because “everything die[s] at last, and too soon”—regardless of your most ardent prayers otherwise.  Our time here is better spent appreciating the millions of tiny beautiful miracles that we have, acting on our own volition.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wildgeese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Thinking about how big and beautiful and grand the world is always helps put things in perspective, and makes me consider what I want to make of my life, what’s significant, what’s not, and what code is worth living by.

::Here Comes the Sun begins to play…::

 

 

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