You probably know by now that Mary Oliver is one of my favorite writers. She was a poet and essayist and was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in literature some years ago. She died last year. But she left a treasure of books of poetry and essays that will enlighten and thrill readers for long years to come.
In one of her books, she tells how each summer she would visit the beach. There she would collect various stones to take home with her at the end of her trip. She would later put them in a glass vase, fill it with water, and display it in her living room.
She noticed that the water in the vase would eventually disappear. She assumed it just vaporized into the air. But she was curious, so she filled the vase again and sealed the top with aluminum foil. As days went by the water slowly vanished. And Mary Oliver decided the stones were thirsty and were drinking the water.
She admitted she didn’t have conversations with the stones, and she was sure they didn’t have feelings as we do. But still. Something was going on.
Some of her friends refused to believe what she told them about the stones. But there were a few who did. And Oliver said she would sometimes observe them on the beach bending down looking at the stones. She was sure she heard them saying to them, Hello.
I love that. There is something tender and mystical and spiritual about that for me.
In these bizarre times, when human life seems trivialized and cheapened by some of the nastiest behavior imaginable, I want to make friends with stones.
Apparently, they quietly, methodically, soak up water out of thirst or some absorption process that is shrouded in secrecy. I’m sure science has an explanation, but I prefer to just wonder about it, as Mary Oliver did.
I find myself edging farther away from the noise and meanness of society. I need an escape now and then from the belittlement of one another, from the carelessly damaging conduct of people, and from the banal tedium of our political circus show and the media’s obsession to endlessly report on the circus barker and the clowns.
Surely better, happier things are going on in the nation. Families are celebrating birthdays. Children are giggling at the antics of their pets. Physicians are helping heal the sick. Teachers and mentors are lifting the sights of students toward some future horizon of personal meaning and contribution to the good of others.
Still, I want to retreat to some remote ocean beach where no tourists roam and all you hear are the songs of seagulls and all you feel is the warmth of the sun and a refreshing breeze off the incoming surf. A place where maybe I could greet some thirsty stones and say to them a friendly Hello.
© 2020 Timothy Moody
In one of her books, she tells how each summer she would visit the beach. There she would collect various stones to take home with her at the end of her trip. She would later put them in a glass vase, fill it with water, and display it in her living room.
She noticed that the water in the vase would eventually disappear. She assumed it just vaporized into the air. But she was curious, so she filled the vase again and sealed the top with aluminum foil. As days went by the water slowly vanished. And Mary Oliver decided the stones were thirsty and were drinking the water.
She admitted she didn’t have conversations with the stones, and she was sure they didn’t have feelings as we do. But still. Something was going on.
Some of her friends refused to believe what she told them about the stones. But there were a few who did. And Oliver said she would sometimes observe them on the beach bending down looking at the stones. She was sure she heard them saying to them, Hello.
I love that. There is something tender and mystical and spiritual about that for me.
In these bizarre times, when human life seems trivialized and cheapened by some of the nastiest behavior imaginable, I want to make friends with stones.
Apparently, they quietly, methodically, soak up water out of thirst or some absorption process that is shrouded in secrecy. I’m sure science has an explanation, but I prefer to just wonder about it, as Mary Oliver did.
I find myself edging farther away from the noise and meanness of society. I need an escape now and then from the belittlement of one another, from the carelessly damaging conduct of people, and from the banal tedium of our political circus show and the media’s obsession to endlessly report on the circus barker and the clowns.
Surely better, happier things are going on in the nation. Families are celebrating birthdays. Children are giggling at the antics of their pets. Physicians are helping heal the sick. Teachers and mentors are lifting the sights of students toward some future horizon of personal meaning and contribution to the good of others.
Still, I want to retreat to some remote ocean beach where no tourists roam and all you hear are the songs of seagulls and all you feel is the warmth of the sun and a refreshing breeze off the incoming surf. A place where maybe I could greet some thirsty stones and say to them a friendly Hello.
© 2020 Timothy Moody
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