I’ve published this excerpt from Mary Oliver before, but I came across is again today as I remembered lessons learned in Cape Cod not too long ago. It brought back such potent memories of this journey that I’ve been on the past few years…

An excerpt from Mary Oliver’s “What is There Beyond Knowing”

What I know
I could put into a pack

as if it were bread and cheese, and carry it
on one shoulder,

important and honorable, but so small!
While everything else continues, unexplained

and unexplainable. How wonderful it is
to follow a thought quietly

to its logical end.
I have done this a few times.

But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing

in and out. Life so far doesn’t have any other name
but breath and light, wind and rain.

If there’s a temple, I haven’t found it yet.
I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass and the weeds.

When I’m in the proximity of wind and water, things just make sense in a way that they don’t in other places. I need the beach, I need to feel the pull and tug of waves. I need to walk in the rain and see pink petals falling on the sidewalk. I need to watch the clouds covering the moon. I need to remember that life doesn’t have “any other name but breath and light, wind and rain.”

Some moments from this week:

Meeting with students as we move into the final push for our big Oral History project. Realizing that this thing that we’ve been working on all year long is actually happening now. Seeing the fatigue and fear in their eyes, knowing that they will be so proud when this is done.

Paddling in the pouring rain. So cold I could hardly lift my paddle. But feeling so happy and alive to be on the ocean again.

Meeting with colleagues at the Huntington Library. Feeling satisfaction that the craziness of my life these past few months hasn’t quelled my academic ambitions.

Greeting the camellias at the Huntington once again. And the Japanese and Chinese gardens. Seeing that what was yellow just a few months ago is now green.

Hosting an evening for feminists. Strengthening old friendships and making new ones.

Being hailed as “Yawna” (the Czech pronunciation of Jana) and remembering how much I loved being called that so many years ago, and how right it sounds now.

And, as always, I am so excited for the upcoming weekend! There will be sand and sea. And more photography(!). And the dissertation chair (again). And pie. Doesn’t that all sound wonderful?

Have you ever thrown a fistful of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face and said I just don’t care?

I came across this song today on Pandora, and it struck me as so poignant and beautiful. I just had to share.

I’ve listened to some pretty spectacular and melancholy break-up songs these past few weeks. Most don’t entirely reflect my experience, but have some nuggets of emotion that resonate with the various stages of feelings that have accompanied my divorce.

For example, this one is excellent for those moments that I’m screaming at the universe (and my ex) (and, oh, that hair. I want that hair!).

And this one works for those moments when I’m feeling overwhelmed with a path that wasn’t of my choosing:

And certainly Piaf is apt when I consider whether I could have done something different along the way, or could have better protected myself from the pain that came from investing myself so fully in my marriage.

I’m not really in break-up mode any longer so these songs bring back specific memories of those first few days rather than reflecting the place where I’m at right now (which is, generally, one where I’m listening to less angry/sad music). But given how significant some of these songs were in my process, they seemed worth sharing here…

What about you, what songs have you listened to during a break-up?

A friend sent over this link, letting me know how the words of this song apply to my situation in many ways. I love it for numerous reasons, although it did make me desperately hungry for the ocean as I’m sitting in my office today…(oh, and reminded me how much I need to add some ab-strengthening exercises to my workout routine!)

Really desperate for ocean poetry today.  Here’s another one from a friend that’s feeding my soul (oh, and fueling my hunger for some salty sea air), while remembering a night not too long ago, spent on the edge of bitumen cliffs, hearing the ocean call my name…

Breakage

I go down to the edge of the sea.
How everything shines in the morning light.
The cusp of the whelk,
the broken cupboard of the clam,
the opened, blue mussels,
moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred —
and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the
moisture gone.
It’s like a schoolhouse
of little words.
First you figure out what each one means by itself,
the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop
full of moonlight.

Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

~ Mary Oliver ~

getting my feet wet, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

From a kind friend…

Caminante, son tus huellas el camino y nada mas;
Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino, y al volver la vista atras
se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino sino estelas en la mar.
~Antonio Machado

Translation:
Pilgrim, the path is your tracks
And nothing more.
Pilgrim, there is no path
The path is made by walking.
By walking you make a path
And turning, you look back
At a way you will never tread again
Pilgrim, there is no road
Only wakes in the sea.

Just what I needed to hear right now….

With Kit, Age Seven, At the Beach

We would climb the highest dune,
from there to gaze and come down:
the ocean was performing;
we contributed our climb.

Waves leapfrogged and came
straight out of the storm.
What should our gaze mean?
Kit waited for me to decide.

Standing on such a hill,
what would you tell your child?
That was an absolute vista.
Those waves raced far, and cold.

“How far could you swim, Daddy,
in such a storm?”
“As far as was needed,” I said,
and as I talked, I swam.

~William Stafford