When the Roses Speak, I Pay Attention | Mary Oliver
Here’s my pick for today: a lovely poem from Mary Oliver about life and death. Why today? Because it’s my 77th birthday! See my comments below.
When the Roses Speak, I Pay Attention
“As long as we are able to
be extravagant we will be
hugely and damply
extravagant. Then we will drop
foil by foil to the ground. This
is our unalterable task, and we do it
And they went on, “Listen,
the heart-shackles are not, as you think,
death, illness, pain,
unrequited hope, not loneliness, but
lassitude, rue, vainglory, fear, anxiety,
Their fragrance all the while rising
from their blind bodies, making me
spin with joy.
© 2006 by Mary Oliver, found on p. 9 of Thirst
Published by Beacon Press 2006
Lassitude: fatigue, weariness, apathy
Vainglory: excessive vanity, inordinate self-esteem
I know it isn’t spring or summer, but neither do the roses. They do their thing, then disappear until it’s time to start all over.
Death is making the rounds these days. Not just death that follows old age, but death from Covid-19, suicide, broken hearts, incurable illnesses, street fights, unleashed hatred or anger, and more. Still, death isn’t our worst enemy.
We’re not on earth to live forever. We’re here to discover and fulfill our earthly purpose as human beings. Welcoming the stranger, accepting our own strangeness, giving and receiving help, taking our personal histories seriously.
In some ways, the roses have it easier. It isn’t easy to be human. We need each other if we’re going to thrive.
Still, like roses, we’re meant to be extravagant. Giving, giving, and giving again. Not obsessively or compulsively, or because we feel guilty, or for personal gain. But as an overflow of beauty and grace.
Think about it! Fragrant roses, baby birds, clouds, sunrise and sunset, fields of tulips, new-fallen snow, and gnarled old tree trunks soaring toward the sky. All this and more with thanks to our Creator.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 November 2020
Photo found at etsy.com