Cop-out #1

Well, it's day 6... and I'm going to have to use one of my cheats already. At least this time it was due to a happy evening full of awesome food and exceedingly awesome company. So now it's getting late and nothing is finished (including my grading... that can wait), but I got an excellent recommendation for filling today's space.

It's a Mary Oliver poem that sounds far more depressing than it is - after a couple of reads, it actually becomes quite empowering and even relevant to some of the bigger life questions I've been contemplating recently. I hope you enjoy it, too.



When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.



http://www.panhala.net/Archive/When_Death_Comes.html