The Precious Resource of Time

Posted on March 8, 2023 by Douglas

American poet Mary Oliver (1935-2019) made this question famous. It is the exclamation point of her 1990 poem “The Summer Day.” I celebrate International Women’s Day with her poem.

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The precious resource of time

I wonder how many people demonstrate that their life is wild and precious? We live in a world full of social conditioning, national conditioning, and religious conditioning. If you are free to do what you’ve been conditioned to do, are you really free?

Marshall Vian Summers, the Messenger of the New Message from God, shared a prayer in 2010. It became public in 2015, and is now known as “The Messenger’s Prayer.” Two sections particularly grab my attention.

I PRAY

That this time may be valued

As a precious resource

Not to be wasted for anyone or anything

Not to be wasted on relationships

That have no promise or no direction.

I PRAY

That this time may be used

To gain a deeper recognition

Of purpose and direction

For each of us.

I think of “purpose and direction” as that which makes life wild and precious. I think of “purpose and direction” as something I brought to the world. And temptations to waste the precious resource of time lie in wait at every turn. Wealth, beauty, charm, adventure, excitement.

It’s not just because I’m getting older that I think of the precious resource of time. It doesn’t hurt, though. I long to meet the people I came to the world to meet. I long to give the gifts I came to the world to give. Is such a thing even possible? The New Message from God says it is, but that it takes a lot of work. Particularly in the penetration of social conditioning, national conditioning and religious conditioning. Will purpose and direction make me a troublemaker? Maybe, but it’s not something I’m trying to be. I seek to find that which will make my life wild and precious.

* * *

Welcome to Mystery of Ascension! We are students and advocates of the the New Message from God. We are members of a worldwide community. We seek to assist the world in successfully navigating difficult times ahead. We seek to assist the world in successfully emerging into a greater community of intelligent life. You will also find some poetry. Find out more about us here. Contact us here.

A New Voice Which You Slowly Recognized As Your Own

Posted on January 24, 2019 by Douglas

The poetry world is celebrating the life and mourning the loss of Mary Oliver, who died on Thursday, January 17 at the age of 83. Detailed obituaries have appeared in many places, including the New York Times and the Boston Globe.

A new voice which you slowly recognized as your own

Minnesota poet Robert Bly introduced me to Mary Oliver sometime in the 00’s. He included some of her poems in the anthology “The Soul Is Here For Its Own Joy.” “Maybe” is one of those poems. I have shared other poems by her in this space. Enjoying her appreciation, her astonishment of nature is for me like drinking clean spring water. Even when she was unhappy, as in the poem “Extending the Airport Runway,” there wasn’t a trace of bitterness or smartassery.

Flatiron Mountains, Boulder, Colorado. A new voice which you slowly recognized as your own — Part of the text of Chapter 5 of Greater Community Spirituality, “What is Human Purpose?”

A person who took the journey.

Steps to Knowledge is the book of spiritual practice of the New Message from God. A fellow student of Steps to Knowledge shared the following Mary Oliver poem with me as a description of the Steps to Knowledge experience. This poem is called “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

Young girl meditating under an artwork. A new voice which you slowly recognized as your own — Step 75 of Steps to Knowledge, “Today I will listen to myself.”

She wrote of the journey. She took the journey.

“The Journey” is one of the relatively few Mary Oliver poems where audio of her reciting the poem is available.

Video of Mary Oliver reciting her poem “The Journey”

Did she accomplish her mission?

Mary Oliver near the end of her life. A new voice which you slowly recognized as your own — Mary Oliver near the end of her wild, precious life

I don’t know. Maybe she had an entirely different mission than loving the world. But I’m glad she loved the world. Maybe she had an entirely different mission than being married to amazement. But I say it was a fruitful marriage. She wrote of a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own. I say she heard that voice.

* * *

Сегодня: Стихи Мэри Оливер.

Posted on November 13, 2018 by Alisa

Сегодня: Стихи Мэри Оливер.

Мэри Оливер родилась 10 сентября 1935 года в Огайо. Её отец был преподавателем социологии, а также работал тренером по легкой атлетике в различных школах Кливленда. Писать стихи Мэри начала в 14 лет.

Её первая книга стихов была опубликована в 1963 году, когда Оливер было 28 лет. С тех пор вышло множество сборников её стихотворений и прозы.

Некоторое время в середине 1950-х Мэри посещала занятия в университете Огайо, а также в Вассаровском колледже, однако диплома нигде не получила.

В конце 1950-х Мэри Оливер познакомилась с фотографом Молли Мэлоун Кук (Molly Malone Cook), которая стала её спутницей на более чем сорок лет.

Я делюсь этим стихотворением по ряду причин.

Во-первых, Мэри Оливер – очень любимая американская поэтесса и много лет так и осталась очень любимой поэтессой.

Во-вторых, я считаю, что лишился себя многого тем, что я мало ее стихотворений прочитал в своей жизни.

В-третьих, любители поэзии тепло приветствовали ее новый том поэзии “Тысяча Утр”, изданный в октябре 2012г.

В-четвертых, я сейчас читаю небольшие куски “Тысячи Утр” и они мне очень нравятся. Мэри Оливер выкладывает больше между строк и в паузах между слов, чем много людей выражает в словах и строках. Вы понимаете о чем я?

В-пятерых, я полагаю, что это стихотворение имеет изящный резонанс с опытом изучения Шагов к Знанию. Я терпеливо жду возможности использовать фразу “духи моих амбиций” как-нибудь в своих писаний. Мэри Оливер, кажется, сама придумала эту фразу.

Сегодня: Стихи Мэри Оливер.

Я сегодня летаю невысоко
И все больше молчу.
И не требуют дани духи моих амбиций.

Ну а все идет своим чередом,
И в саду тихонько жужжит пчела,
Плещет рыба, поедая мошку,
И так далее.

А мой день свободен от всяких дел,
Тих, как перышко.
Я едва шевелюсь, но по правде сказать, я уже за тысячу миль.

О блаженный покой. Дверь в иные миры.

Больше о Мэри Оливер можно читать здесь.

И вы можете слышать, как Дуглас (автор английской версии этой статьи) читает это стихотворение на английском.

See English original here.

* * *

Astonishment, Rejoicing, Gratitude

Posted on March 14, 2016 by Douglas

Step329-field-of-sunflowers Astonishment, rejoicing, gratitude

Loving a world that is full of error and its consequences takes some work. I’ve been told to beware the world’s persuasions. And yet, I’ve been told the world needs my efforts to become a better and stronger person.

Astonishment, rejoicing, gratitude

When much is required of me, I find poetry to be a great consolation. I have shared four poems by the American poet Mary Oliver so far. The poem “Messenger” appeared in the book “Thirst,” published in 2007.

Messenger

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird — equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth
and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all,
over and over, how it is that we live forever.

Astonishment, rejoicing, gratitude. I have taken the liberty of making two versions of this poem, one without music, and one with music.

Astonishment, rejoicing, gratitude. The speaker for each species must say something to that species. Can I tell a dying species how it is that we live forever? All I know to say at this point is “I’m sorry” and “Please forgive me.” I’m not as pure as Mary Oliver yet, but I’m working on it.

* * *

The Back Of The Hand To Everything

Posted on January 9, 2015 by Douglas

There are 240 Google results for the exact phrase “I love Mary Oliver.” There are 6 Google results for the exact phrase “I hate Mary Oliver.” That pretty much tells you what people think about this 20th-and-21st Century American poet.

The back of the hand to everything

I read her book “A Thousand Mornings” slightly over a year ago. I believed that some of the poems in that book would come in handy in conveying certain feelings here. That time has now come.

This poem should be construed as an interlude of sorts in my contemplation of the New Message from God revelation “The Race to Save Human Civilization,” received in 2009 in Aleppo, Syria. This poem paints a picture of the disrupted climate and violent storms mentioned in the revelation.

It didn’t behave
like anything you had
ever imagined. The wind
tore at the trees, the rain
fell for days slant and hard.
The back of the hand
to everything. I watched
the trees bow and their leaves fall
and crawl back into the earth.
As though, that was that.
This was one hurricane
I lived through, the other one
was of a different sort, and
lasted longer. Then
I felt my own leaves giving up and
falling. The back of the hand to
everything. But listen now to what happened
to the actual trees;
toward the end of that summer they
pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.
It was the wrong season, yes,
but they couldn’t stop. They
looked like telephone poles and didn’t
care. And after the leaves came
blossoms. For some things
there are no wrong seasons.
Which is what I dream of for me.

When I contemplate the Great Waves of Change, the difficult times ahead, I recall that line from Mary Oliver’s poem, “The back of the hand to everything.” I believe nature will try to muddle through, pushing out new leaves from stubbed limbs. But will it be enough?

* * *

Less Fussing, More Living

Posted on September 4, 2014 by Douglas

I have started what I hope will become an annual custom for me. It is a custom of reading a book on Christmas Day. On Christmas Day, 2012, I read the book Tales of the Dervishes by Idries Shah. I have shared four stories from that jewel-box of wonder since then.

Less fussing, more living

On Christmas Day, 2013, I read the book A Thousand Mornings by American poet Mary Oliver. I have shared two Mary Oliver poems so far, one of them coming from A Thousand Mornings. I will most likely share a few more before all is said and done, like this one.

Good-bye Fox

He was lying under a tree, licking up the shade,

Hello again, Fox, I said.

And hello to you too, said Fox, looking up and not bounding away.

You’re not running away? I said.

Well, I’ve heard of your conversation about us. News travels even among foxes, as you might know or not know.

What conversation do you mean?

Some lady said to you, “The hunt is good for the fox.” And you said, “Which fox?”

Yes, I remember. She was huffed.

So you’re okay in my book.

Your book! That was in my book, that’s the difference between us.

Yes, I agree. You fuss over life with your clever words, mulling and chewing on its meaning, while we just live it.

Oh!

Could anyone figure it out, to a finality? So why spend so much time trying. You fuss, we live. And he stood, slowly, for he was old now, and ambled away.

What’s the New Message from God angle? Step 124 (of 365) of Steps to Knowledge “Today I will not pretend I am happy,” teaches “Knowledge is not a form of behavior. It is an intense experience of life.” Less fussing, more living.

Mary Oliver has spent a lifetime being astonished at nature, and eloquently expressing that astonishment. As we say here in Minnesota, you could do worse. Less fussing, more living.

* * *

Maybe by Mary Oliver

Posted on September 11, 2013 by Douglas

I love this poem for multiple reasons.

I love this poem because I believe Mary Oliver captured the emotions of the disciples after Jesus rebuked the wind of a deadly storm, and caused the waves to be still. The gospel of Mark reports “They were terrified and asked each other, ‘Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!'” (Mark 4:41, New International Version)

I love this poem for the phrase “something different crossing the threshold.” Jesus was someone different crossing the threshold, someone putting everything that had gone before into a new context. Mary Oliver points out that people have a hard time with something different crossing the threshold.

I love this poem because I’m waiting for an opportunity to use the phrase “like a tremor of pure sunlight”

I love this poem because it describes things I feel about my study of Steps to Knowledge. If it really is something different crossing the threshold, I would find that much scarier than if it were just another self-development program.

Sweet Jesus, talking
his melancholy madness,
stood up in the boat
and the sea lay down,

silky and sorry,
So everybody was saved
that night.
But you know how it is

when something
different crosses
the threshold — the uncles
mutter together,

the women walk away,
the young brother begins
to sharpen his knife.
Nobody knows what the soul is.

It comes and goes
like the wind over the water —
sometimes, for days,
you don’t think of it.

Maybe, after the sermon,
after the multitude was fed,
one or two of them felt
the soul slip forth

like a tremor of pure sunlight
before exhaustion,
that wants to swallow everything,
gripped their bones and left them

miserable and sleepy,
as they are now, forgetting
how the wind tore at the sails
before he rose and talked to it —

tender and luminous and demanding
as he always was —
a thousand times more frightening
than the killer sea.

* * *

Today by Mary Oliver

Posted on April 10, 2013 by Douglas

I’m sharing this poem for a number of reasons.

One, Mary Oliver is a deeply beloved American poet, and has been a deeply beloved poet for many years.

Two, there has been a gap in my education, in that I have not read very many of her poems.

Three, her most recent volume of poetry, A Thousand Mornings, published in October of 2012, has been warmly received by lovers of poetry.

Four, I have been reading little bits of A Thousand Mornings, and taking great happiness in them. Mary Oliver says more in the things that go unsaid in the spaces in between words and lines than a lot of people do in the words and lines. Got that?

Five, I consider this poem to vibrate quite sympathetically with the experience of studying Steps to Knowledge. I’m patiently waiting for an opportunity to use the phrase “voodoos of ambition.” Mary Oliver seems to have originated that phrase.

Today

Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.

But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m traveling
a terrific distance.

Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.

* * *

Mystery of Ascension

A great mystery / Is my true self that I bring / From my ancient home

Tag Archives: Mary Oliver

The Precious Resource of Time

The precious resource of time

I PRAY

I PRAY

A New Voice Which You Slowly Recognized As Your Own

A new voice which you slowly recognized as your own

A person who took the journey.

She wrote of the journey. She took the journey.

Did she accomplish her mission?

Сегодня: Стихи Мэри Оливер.

Сегодня: Стихи Мэри Оливер.

Astonishment, Rejoicing, Gratitude

Astonishment, rejoicing, gratitude

The Back Of The Hand To Everything

The back of the hand to everything

Less Fussing, More Living

Less fussing, more living

Good-bye Fox

Maybe by Mary Oliver

Today by Mary Oliver