The Journey
by Mary Oliver

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.

I've been thinking lately about where I've been, where I'm going, what my options are. It's been an amazing path so far. Here's to the rest of the journey.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

There is one mirror in my house in which I always seem to look my best. It is the mirror into which I peer to brush my teeth before bed, in my red nightgown, my eye makeup off, my dark hair spilling down upon my shoulders. Maybe it’s the alabaster lighting from the overhead fixture, or the swirled terracotta shower curtain and buttered toffee walls that enhance my skin tone, make my hazel eyes smoulder and shine. Maybe it’s simply that my world weary eyes are less critical than at other times of day. Maybe it is that my perception is colored not by paint or fabric but by the fulfillment of a day complete, children fed and resting, nothing left to do but climb into my blessed bed. For whatever reason, it never fails. I am always able, as if by magic, to see my own beauty in this mirror. I am grateful for it, this opportunity to see myself as I would like to be, if not always as I am.

There are people in my life who are like this mirror, reflecting my soul, my attributes. At times these mirrors have been men, but not always. Some have been the closest of female friends. Others, more fleeting companions, have provided glimpses of who I am capable of being, mere glimmers of possibility amidst the flawed reflection of right now. Certain others were soul mates, if there is such a thing.

Elizabeth Gilbert’s Richard from Texas in Eat, Pray, Love says of soul mates: “…a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you will ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake …. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave….”

I think it is important to avail one’s self in life of these people, these mirrors, in order to gain a fuller sense of our selves. These mirrors allow us moments of comfort and insight, a chance to take stock of who we are and are capable of being, a chance to see our liquid beauty in reflection, apart from ourselves, then finally, hopefully, recognize it as our own. We should take stock of these rare individuals when we are graced with them, and value their function in our lives. We should view them as precious, and treasure them. They may not stay, but they will offer valuable perspective while they are in our midst, no so much by their own vision, but by their allowance of our own.

Everyone needs a mirror, one in which they can love the reflection they see. We each deserve this luxury, necessity. The secret is, though, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Maybe the secret is not the mirror at all, but who we are when we gaze into it.

The beginning of a new year, clean slate, uncharted territory. Perspective is key.

Possibility

I’m addicted to the moment immediately preceding a kiss, that place where time stands still, lips poised for the blessed contact. I’m a sucker for the first kiss in movies, on TV, because it signals a shift in dynamic, a moment of pure truth and honesty of feeling. There is no moment more magical, erotic. Like the tremble of water’s glasslike surface as it edges up to kiss a fingertip, giving in to the natural forces that exist within or around it, there is where potential lives. The same is true with a touch, if one slows down long enough to notice. Possibility exists in the electric moment when bodies are that dangerously close to touching. Possibility exists there and, if one can slow down long enough and hone one’s senses, enlightenment lives there too.

My children have been electrified by their anticipation of Christmas. They are full of an energy they are not quite sure how to express, which lends a deliciously and, at times, frustratingly frenetic quality to our already chaotic home. They are excited by the possibilities for magic and fulfillment, albeit in relation to material gain, but there is something more to their excitement. At eight and ten, my children still believe in Santa Claus, although begrudgingly so at times. It’s hard to know whether their belief is anchored in naivete, or whether Santa still exists because they need him to be real. The magic inherent in that belief is in part what fuels their excitement. Anticipation, bolstered by the knowledge that anything can happen, anything is possible.

One problem with life as many of us live it is that we have ceased to believe in magic, in possibility. The problem with kissing or touching a long-time partner is that we become de-sensitized to those electric moments. Kissing, touching, become routine, a means to an end. We know how the story will turn out, after all, the same way it always has. There is a need to know the outcome, to plan for it, expect it. Plan has replaced the deliciousness of spontaneity. At its best it's a comfort, at its worst, self-fulfilling prophecy. Either way, the magic is gone.

Sad but true, both kissing and Christmas have at times become items on a TO DO list, a series of activities necessary to move life on into the next action item, activity, hour, day. Santa has ceased to exist, except as an alter-ego of overburdened parents everywhere. At times I have become jaded, or simply unobservant, inattentive to the magic moments that precede most any action, moments in which anything is possible. I am aware that I must cultivate mindfulness in order become awake to possibility. In this, my fortieth year, I am making tremendous progress. I’m coming to the party late in this regard, but am thankful, nonetheless, to be here. My anticipation for 2008 is finally palpable. The new year holds tremendous promise, even in amidst the shortcomings of our world, and the suffering within it. We are capable of anything, most importantly compassion. But we must remain mindful, fervently so. Magic is everywh ere. It is all around us, in the pause before a kiss or a touch, and in the eyes of my children, and yours. Awake, my friends. Enjoy….