A beautiful poem--Safely Home

This poem is considered to be a funeral poem and is often used for prayer cards. Jean sent it to me today and I'm posting it here so that all those who have lost loved ones can find comfort in the words. I don't know who the poet is, but the poem is a poignant reminder that our loved ones who have passed on made the journey safely to heaven and that they will be waiting for us when our time comes.

 

One of Mary Oliver's most popular poems--The Summer Day

The Summer Day

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?

+ Mary Oliver

I first came across the last two lines of this poem before I knew that there was an entire poem in front of them. This poem is from Mary Oliver's House of Light collection. I've since purchased several volumes of her poetry and am savoring them as I read them. So much of what she writes about is a reminder for us to be truly mindful (before it became a trendy word), to be present in our own lives. She wants us to pay attention to our own life and the life around us--insects, birds, fish, small animals and large animals. In some of her other poems she even wonders about what stones feel and think. I love that. 

In this poem, her way of praying is to pay attention, to fall and kneel in the grass, to be idle and blessed, even though she isn't really sure what a prayer is. But what is prayer if not this? She cultivated the ability to 'wonder', to be surprised by and grateful for nature at every turn. 'Wonder' is defined as 'a feeling of amazement and admiration, caused by something beautiful, remarkable, or unfamiliar'. It is the wonder we experienced as children when we came across something beautiful or unfamiliar. I know I felt wonder when I as a child looked at the underside of fern fronds and saw spores, which are the ferns' method of reproduction, or when we went on a field trip and went looking for moss's reproductive structures. Or observed lichen growing on a rock. Or when we collected leaves from different trees in the autumn. Or when we saw snow-laden branches on a fir tree, how beautiful they looked, or ice formations in small brooks and even on the Hudson River. I knew wonder when my father and I sat at his desk in the evening with the small microscope he and my mother bought for me, and we looked at the already-prepared slides of diatoms (single-celled algae) that came with the microscope set. So amazing to see these magnified tiny organisms that make their home in sea water and fresh water. 

I think if we retain our ability to wonder throughout our lives, we will be able to tap into our 'child lives'. Not childish or silly lives, but rather lives that are open to the world. A kind of purity of soul, uncontaminated by the negativity and evil around us. Innocent as it were. It's not easy. But if we say no to cynicism and negativity, we leave more room for wonder. It's a good start. 

The need to breathe--dealing with psychological suffocation

What happens to us when we are constantly bombarded by a barrage of outrage fomented by news and social media, or nitpicking courtesy of the news pundits and social media, or constant noise, or people/events that clamor for our constant attention? My friend Jean came up with the term 'psychological suffocation' to aptly describe how we can feel when faced with all of this--smothered, unable to breathe. Psychological suffocation--when the heart and mind can't breathe--can affect us physiologically. Both she and I agree that modern society as we know it is too focused on fomenting outrage and division instead of peace and harmony, too 'in your face', too noisy, and too 'on' all the time. Even if all these things are not intentionally designed to suffocate us psychologically, they have that effect far too often. As she says, the feeling of psychological suffocation makes her want to throw open the windows and the door to breathe in the air, the peace, the quiet of nature outside her door. When I reach that point, all I want to do is go to my garden or for a long walk or bike ride. Just to get away from it all--from the influences that get the heart pounding in anger and outrage and that make it difficult to breathe. 

The ultimate solution to dealing with the things that psychologically suffocate us is to prevent them from having that power over us. That means keeping them at bay--shutting out the news or walking away from people and situations that want us to be continually outraged. It means being selective about what we let into our minds and hearts. Garbage in, garbage out, as the old saying goes. It's like junk food; if all we eat is junk food, then our bodies will not be healthy. Likewise our minds; they will not be healthy if all we feed them is outrage, aggression, anger, and more outrage. We are constantly being told how to think and how to feel. I'm surprised that doesn't bother more people. 

Both the regular media and social media are invested in riling us up with what I call fake outrage because that's how they drag in viewers. More viewers, better ratings, more money. It's all about the money. If they were really interested in solving the problems in society, they would come up with solutions to problems, even if those solutions were on a small scale. Because I ask you, what is the point of getting riled up if we don't come up with a solution, however small, to deal with whatever problem is brought up? If we do nothing about the problem that we are told to be outraged about, then the outrage is pointless and by extension, false. Additionally, false outrage is demotivating and leads to feelings of hopelessness and despair. As Christians, we are called to act as well as to have faith and to pray. An old Chinese proverb that was adopted by the Christian inspirational group The Christophers as their motto says 'it is better to light one candle than curse the darkness'. I understood this already in my twenties when I discovered The Christophers. If you wait for the big solutions to occur to solve any problem whatsoever, you'll wait a long time. Better to start small. As Mother Teresa said, we can start by loving and showing charity in our own homes and families, before we worry about the rest of the world. She understood that if we managed to do this in our own homes, we would find it less difficult to extend love and charity to strangers. Additionally, if more people did this in their own homes, a number of family problems might actually be solved. Her focus was on starting where we find ourselves on a daily basis--home or work for most people. This makes sense because most of us will never live a life like Mother Teresa's. But she is an inspiration for us when we feel psychologically suffocated, when hope feels like it has disappeared, when outrage and despair take center stage. 

Hope. Hope counteracts psychological suffocation. Hope is found in nature, which exists outside of us and carries on despite what goes on in the world. There is the promise of hope in each new season. Prayer also counteracts it, regardless of how we define prayer or of how we pray. Prayer centers us and leads us to a quiet place, far away from the talking heads in the television studios and their obsession with outrage that borders on monomania. Hope and prayer give us the energy to deal with the problems around us. Continual outrage does not; it may seem like it would, but in the final analysis the energy we expend on continual outrage does nothing but exhaust us, leaving very little positive energy with which to work on the problems in the world. 

Desperately seeking silence

It is difficult to find a silent place in the modern world. And on those days when one is really seeking silence in order to have some peace, it's even harder. My garden is about the only place that is unspoiled by noise, and the minute I enter it, my stress level goes to zero. Even when I go to mass these days, I can never find a quiet one, like the ones I used to attend with my mother on weekdays when I visited her. They were held in the chapel off the side of the main altar of the church, and they were small, silent, and peaceful. Just a mass without the frills. I find I neither need nor do I like the frills anymore. I just want to go to mass and find some peace of mind. I want the quiet in order to reflect--on life, on suffering, on sickness, on life's meaning. I need to do that; I need to find the time to reflect in order to understand what is going on in my life and in the lives of others. But I am not allowed that. I cannot find one mass at my church that is quiet, straightforward, and without frills. They are often long drawn-out affairs, with pre-mass processions, a lot of incense holder waving, a lot of (off-key) singing of modern songs that hold no meaning for me. I miss the old standard hymns (sung by a real choir), the ones I grew up with (like Praise to the Lord), the ones my mother and I liked and sometimes teared-up over (On Eagle's Wings). I miss ordinary masses, celebrated by a priest who appreciated silence and the absence of continual activity. There are now masses in multiple languages (Norwegian, English, Vietnamese, Tagalog, French, Spanish, Polish) at my church in Oslo; more power to them--I am sure the different cultures appreciate this effort by the church. But I wonder why there cannot be just one mass for those of us who would appreciate some silence in between the traditional celebration of the mass.

Sometimes I feel like I am desperately seeking silence. It's hard to find. When I reflect upon my need for silence, I realize that it is born of a lifetime of talking to work colleagues (having to interact in order to get things done), of sharing an office with others, of holding lectures, of attending meetings, of watching TV, of listening to the radio, of having to interact with the world the minute I wake up (via newspapers and other media forms). There is no escaping the inundation of noise that awaits you each day, ready to pounce on you and to destroy the peace of your day. I simply don't want it anymore.

As I was weeding in the garden today, I realized that my garden has become a place of peace and of silence. I pray as I work, reflecting upon the things I need to reflect upon, working out the solutions I need for specific problems. It has become my church of sorts; the way church used to be--when you could walk in and find peace. I can spend hours in my garden, and feel closer to all things spiritual there than anywhere else, including my church. I find that a bit sad, but true. And there is little to do about it. As I get older, I want peace, quiet, and time for reflection. If I cannot find them at mass, then I will find them in my garden.

Two of my favorite prayers

Two of my favorite prayers--they contain all the wisdom needed to help us through our lives. 

The Serenity Prayer        (Reinhold Niebuhr--1892-1971)

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change; 

courage to change the things I can; 

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; 

enjoying one moment at a time; 

accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; 

taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it; 

trusting that He will make all things right

if I surrender to His Will; 

that I may be reasonably happy in this life

and supremely happy with Him

forever in the next. 

Amen.

(It is the first part of this prayer that most people remember, but the last part is equally wise). 

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Prayer of Saint Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

An Advent prayer

I found this picture online (https://www.lords-prayer-words.com/times/advent_prayers.html) when I was searching for Advent prayers. I thought it was perfect for Advent--a star to guide us 'home'.

Moments of peace

Everyone has their own idea of what heaven might be like. Mine is a sunny warm summer day, with all the windows in my home open, a soft breeze blowing, and sunlight streaming in from all angles. I’m standing in the kitchen, my favorite room in the house, puttering about, as I love to do. No cares, no worries, completely relaxed. I love that state of mind. Maybe working on a recipe, or re-potting a few of my plants. Or leaning on the sill of an open window, looking out onto the world below and about me. Listening to the birds, talking to the pigeons on the balcony, or watching the yellow jackets as they fly in for a visit and then out again. If our cat was still alive, she would have hopped up onto the sill and joined me, and we would have been looking out at the world together. A little slice of heaven—a world of sunshine and peace, a natural world, peopled by animals, birds, nature, living things. It’s what my heart seeks return to when I’ve managed to move myself far away from it, or when I’ve let the many negative distractions in the world move me away from it. 

The priest at mass tonight talked about the necessity of moving ourselves ‘up’ and away from the dark cellar of depressing or sensational news stories that the media bombards us with, because it is the only way to find inner stillness and peace, both of which are needed for prayer. It’s hard to pray when your mind is full of anxiety and uneasiness, when your mind is stuck in the dark cellar. To leave the cellar means getting up and turning off the TV, or not starting the day by sitting down to breakfast with a newspaper full of depressing news stories. I don’t want to shut out the world, nor do I want to ignore social injustices and moral outrages. I simply want to choose how to let them into my heart and soul and how I want to deal with them. I don’t want to be lectured to or informed by the media that this is what I should be paying attention to, or else. I have realized that I cannot tackle all the injustices in the world; I’ve got to start small and accept that I will make a small difference. Mother Teresa also said something similar to that. You need to start at home or with the situations around you. Otherwise you will end up feeling depressed and defeated because you are not able to make the world into a better place. And that defeated feeling helps no one. So I am thankful for the little moments of heaven that are allowed me in this life. They restore my faith in my ability to make a difference in this world, however small it is.   

The Surrealism of Illness

Since the New Year began, major illness has already reared its ugly head for two people I know, one a close personal friend who received the diagnosis of multiple systemic atrophy of the brain, the other a valued colleague and friend who suffered most of the autumn with a persistent cough and was recently diagnosed with lung cancer. In both cases, when I heard the news, I was truly shocked. It just seemed so unreal and so unbelievable that this could be happening to them. When I finally ‘came to’, I realized that I have to learn how to be strong so that I can be there for the both of them in the best way I know how. Because their shock and disbelief, their sorrow and pain, are so much greater than mine; they have to tackle the surrealism of being given a diagnosis that could mean an earlier passage from this life compared to the rest of us. I cannot imagine what that must feel like. I do know what it feels like to witness the journeys of two friends who were diagnosed with breast cancer a decade ago. One of them received a diagnosis of breast cancer when she was sitting in her doctor’s office. She fainted on hearing the news. Luckily her husband was with her and he caught her as she fell off her chair. She was operated on to remove her tumor, received chemo and radiation, and is disease-free today. Another friend of mine was not so lucky; she passed away three years ago from metastatic breast cancer. She was diagnosed with breast cancer shortly after my other woman friend, underwent an operation to remove the tumor, but did not start with chemotherapy right away for reasons that made sense then but no longer now. Just because no cancer was found in the surrounding lymph nodes is no reason to not undergo chemo. But doctors have their viewpoints, and they most often prevail.

At times, I am struck by the surrealism that surrounds illness. It just seems so unreal at times and impossible to deal with, whereas at other times I am more inured to the idea of illness. I have a long relationship with illness; my father had his first heart attack when I was twelve years old, his second when I was twenty-one, his first stroke when I was in my mid-twenties, and the stroke that took his life when I was twenty-nine. I remember growing up worrying that my father could die at any time. I know he worried about the same thing because he told me that and so many other things on our walks together during summer evenings when I was a teenager. He had a wife and three children to consider in addition to the fear that he might die young. He was sixty-seven when he died, and that is young. When you are a child, you are perhaps somewhat more protected psychologically than you are when you are older and a loved one gets sick and dies. When I was twelve, I remember that my father was home on sick leave, that he watched TV and soap operas with us, and that he read a lot. It was enjoyable to have him home and available to us. When I was in my twenties, I understood more of what chronic illness can do to the afflicted person as well as to his or her family. The stress associated with worrying about a loved one affects the lives of those around him or her. Love becomes tightly connected with sorrow and the preparation for loss. Our teenage years were not carefree or sorrow-free.

I have learned to live with hopeful optimism and an objective realism where major illness is concerned. They co-exist within me, side by side, without battling each other for dominance. I pray for miracles at the same time that I know that there aren’t many of them. I’m aware of the statistics; I’m a cancer researcher, I know the odds associated with major illnesses, not just cancer. But I pray anyway for both of my friends. I also pray for the strength to be a good and supportive friend in the years ahead. It scares me to think that I won’t know what to do, how to be, or what to say. But then I remember my father, and how the most important thing was just to love each other. In the end, it comes down to that. Make the most of the time you have together. Create good memories. Life is short; for some of us, it is shorter, but all of us will face the day when we must leave this earth for good. That’s a thought that is always with me, since I was a child.