To Mary Oliver, “Mindful”
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world —
—Mary Oliver, “Mindful”
I scan the grassy area for the deepest shade, and I stretch out my towel under a tree. It's only once I lay down on the grass that I notice the bees humming about very close to me, hovering just above the grass at the base of the tree. Oh! Fallen fruit everywhere. I look up—I'm sitting beneath a plum tree, dropping small yellow plums all over the grass. I look at the soft mounds of rotting fruit in the grass, and the bees, and I decide that I needn't move, as long as I don't make any quick movements to startle the bees.
Then come the squirrels. They have preferences about the plums! They seem to pick up only the ones already rather mushy, not the plump full ones. This one holds the fruit in his tiny paws and yanks off the skin with his teeth and spits it out before gnawing off the sweet parts and tossing away the pit, like we eat corn. That one puts the whole plum in his mouth and gnaws off the fruit before spitting out the pit, like I eat cherries. Who knew that squirrels had different strategies for gleaning the sweetness off fallen fruit?
Mary, I believe you, I truly, truly do. I feel at ease too, when I look, listen, lose myself inside this soft world. I feel delight watching these funny squirrels fill their cheeks to bursting. But, good scholar, can you please tell me how to bring these wise teachings to the marketplace? Believe me, my dear friend, I would love nothing more in the world than to watch the ocean’s shine and join the prayers of the grass, day in and day out. Happy I would be to lay my prayer mat out and bow to the Mecca of bees and squirrels and rotting plums five times a day.
But... how to be an adult in the world with such frivolous work habits? I envy you, poet of wisdom... how did you pay your bills? Did Molly help? You had no children, that I know. It seems that way, so often, you darling, beautiful poets, with partners to facilitate your time at the writing desk, beautiful beach homes to take long walks from, no teenagers to harangue you and wear away at your prayerful listening capacity.
How to bring the prayerfulness to the marketplace?
If the bees and the squirrels are today's wise teachers, what have they to tell me?
The plums are rotting now.
They will only be here while they are here.
Eat now. Gather now.
Eat in the way that feels most right for you.
Use your fingers, your mouth, your teeth, your claws.
Hover about, dart about, let your nose lead you to where the fragrances are best.
Use your tail for balance.
Dart away when intruders approach.
Be satisfied when you are satisfied, come back when you hunger for more.
But squirrels! You have no landlord!
Bees! Your offspring don't leave stinky socks everywhere!
Ah, unwise student, you just think too much, that's all. Is the landlord pounding on your door right now, face ugly with threats of eviction?
No, but—
No, he's not—stop there! Don't let the “but” in! You've been fearing your finances for the eight years of your singlehood, and yet, you've made those adulting choices of whatever kind you did, and no eviction notice has appeared. You made the rent, month after month, without worry, yes?
Yes, but now—
Stop. Say just the first word again, just the first word.
Yes?
Say it again.
Yes
And again
Yes
See the bees?
Yes
And the fallen fruit?
Yes
And the grass?
Yes
Fall onto your prayer mat, bow down to the grass, and listen.