Delight Beyond Measure
I thought I’d continue from where I left off yesterday, with section 2 of “At the River Clarion” by Mary Oliver. (There are 7 sections in all. Stay tuned.)
At the River Clarion (continued)
by Mary Oliver
2.
If God exists he isn’t just butter and
good luck.
He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful
dog Luke.
Said the river: imagine everything you
can imagine, then
keep on going.
Imagine how the lily (who may also be
a part of God)
would sing to you if it could sing, if
you would pause to hear it.
And how are you so certain anyway
that it doesn’t sing?
If God exists he isn’t just churches and
mathematics.
He’s the forest, He’s the desert.
He’s the ice caps, that are dying.
He’s the ghetto and the Museum of Fine
Arts.
He’s van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and
Robert
Motherwell.
He’s the many desperate hands, cleaning
and preparing
their weapons.
He’s every one of us, potentially.
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician,
the poet.
And if this is true, isn’t it something
very important?
Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of
God, and
each of you too, or at least
of his intention and his hope.
Which is a delight beyond measure.
I don’t know how you get to suspect
such an idea.
I only know that the river kept
singing.
It wasn’t a persuasion, it was all the
river’s own
constant joy
which is better by far than a lecture,
which was
comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.
***
(image by Robert Motherwell)