“The Vivacious Many” from a poem by Mary Oliver
The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers
Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so
briefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone
longing to be ground down, to be part again of
something livelier? Who can imagine in what
heaviness the rivers remember their original
Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile
time with them. And I suggest them to you also,
that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life
be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as
you feel how it actually is, that we- so clever, and
ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained- are only
one design of the moving, the vivacious many.
by Mary Oliver, from A Thousand Mornings, 2012
From where does my plenty come today?
To whom shall I offer gratitude for all that I have?
Where might I share my bounty?
These are my questions today.
I have a hunch that offering these to myself is an answer worth considering.