The Journey: another poem by Mary Oliver
Diane and I are sharing poems. It's not really my turn to post one since I just posted Bleeding-heart. But this one came to me in a blog discussion, so here it is. Diane, you're next. Or, anyone else can post a poem and lead us to it. We're having a fun conversation about poetry.
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Comments
I really like the line: "as you left their voices behind"
I think as women, as human beings, that is where we need to begin. Leaving behind the voices that would try to stop us from becoming and being all that God calls us to be. Often it is a long journey just to get to the point where you can "leave the voices behind."...
I like this beginning because it reflects my own discernment process. I tend to weigh this and that, and then again, and yet again, and then suddenly I know. And what I know is often not at all what I expected to know, or where it seems that the process has been leading, and I don't know it whole, but I know.
In more concrete terms, as a for instance: late winter before last, as I was making my way very slowly through the Ignatian Exercises and pondering what I was going to do, I drove a couple of hundred miles to an interview for a college teaching job that I was sure spelled my future. I had a wonderful day there, full of positive conversation, and I could see everything falling into place and how easily the different parts of my life would fit and what a wonderful teaching opportunity I would have in a place where an educator's gifts are like gold.
And then a couple of days later I walked into my spiritual director's office and said, "I'm going to seminary." And he said, "You are?" And I said, "Yep." And he said, "OK."
And we've been talking about it for another 1.5 years (because there is nothing whatever about it that enables the different parts of my life to fit easily), but I did suddenly know.
the description of the night with fallen branches...
but the best is the NEW VOICE, which your recognize as your own...emerging from the night... and the voice emerges in the poem, finally as well. the only thing hard for me is once I start to leave my comment, I can't see the poem any more. I need it in front of me. Where did this come from, Mompriest?
Thanks for it. It is a gift. And reminds me to listen to my own voice.
and mompriest, this poem was given to you?
That's another part of the poetry.
Just this week, I needed some help. I tried to be thoughtful AND to take care of myself by not asking for it from a friend who was dealing with a major family situation of her own. Now she is angry at me because she wasn't asked to help and because she learned some more of my story which accidentally emerged out of my frustration with her insistence on involvement, and now she thinks I should spread my own neediness around -- in other words, that I should be asking others to "mend my life."
Obtuse story, I know. My only point is that what I keep hearing from her is "Mend my life!" and what I keep trying to do is save my own. Hers is up to her and, brutal as that may sound, it is the only authentic way.
I am really grateful for the level of sharing here, it's a tribute to the potency of poetry to speak into our hearts.
Such a powerful poem.
Also, yes burning stars, what a great phrase. We think of burning sun but not stars. Stars burning happens at night, sun during the day. Burning in the darkness of night and sheets of clouds...
sheets of clouds add another layer of darkness (no moon), more covering up, but the stars, the "light" burns through the darkness and the covering up bringing forth this new voice.
I've been out today doing family things. Thanks GG for clarifying and for everyone who has shared so deeply.
Yes. That line spoke to me (LOUDLY) as I read. It is funny because one of my mentors, an Episcopalian priest, told me that she had seen God's confirmation on me over the last year. That in itself is pretty cool.
And yeah. The bad advice seems to popup like... um... weeds?
You are making me think I need to post some of my stuff.
hmmmm...
d