The patience of vegetables

“Night after night
      darkness
            enters the face
                  of the lily

which, lightly
      closes its five walls
            around itself,
                  and is purse

of honey,
      and its fragrance,
            and is content
                  to stand there

in the garden,
      not quite sleeping,
            and, maybe,
                  saying in lily language

some small words
      we can’t hear
            even when there is no wind
                  anywhere,

its lips
      are so secret,
            its tongue
                  is so hidden–

or, maybe,
      it says nothing at all
            but just stands there
                  with the patience

of vegetables
      and saints
            until the whole earth has turned around
                  and the silver moon

becomes the golden sun–
      as the lily absolutely knew it would,
            which is itself, isn’t it,
                  the perfect prayer?”

~ Mary Oliver, The Lily

How to handle the night.
How to weather the darkness.
How to stand there with the patience of vegetables and saints and know, praying.

Lilies, trees, seeds… they’ve got it figured out.
We could learn a thing or two…

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It all makes sense until its our turn at the front of the class, until we get to present on the wisdom we’ve absorbed through all the fantastic lessons. It all makes sense until we’re asked to follow. Or worse yet, to lead. And there, in the darkness, in the night, we can, with the quickness of a spider, forget it all.

Thankfully, the lilies tell their tale afresh. The trees teach once more. The seeds still act as model. They stand tall, patient, repeating again and again.

Also thankfully, Mary Oliver exists. Mark Nepo is. Matt Haig, Anne Lamott, and a constellation of others live here with us and help us to translate. Again and again.

So that we can remember.

Time to love louder.