I couldn't go to the park :(

Last week I was sick. I was unable to visit the park like the rest of the class. I stayed home in my bed with a fever of 102.5 F. So when I thought of what to write for this post, I realized that I cannot write as was prompted by Professor Corrigan. I decided to write on one of the nature poems we had to read previously by Mary Oliver. I reflected on one poem a couple posts back, however this time I chose "Messenger" to re-read and re-reflect on, and I'll admit, I gained a lot more out of the poem this time than I did last time.

The first line caught me sqarely. "My work is loving the world." Does that not sound like something God would say? I found that as I read this there was a stirring of emotion. I enjoy working with my hands. It's something I like to do. I enjoy work. That line took that and twisted it to me. My work is enjoying what life is, enjoying what I do, loving the world. The author describes herself as old, torn, and still cannot obtain even half of perfection. However, she reminds herself that she must always maintain focus on the things that do matter. In this case, her work of loving the world, standing and being astonished, rejoicing, giving gratitude, and shouting joy. That is how she exherts love.

That is how we should all exhert love, not just in people but in all things. Sometimes it is more important to stand back and be awed than to overcrowd something that is beautiful. We express joy in more ways than one. The same goes for any emotion. Sometimes we need to take a step back and take a view of what we've been given to live on. Watch the waters of the rivers and lakes trickle and flow. Listen to the sounds that the birds make or the wind in the trees. Gaze over the fields of green with dots of colorful flowers. See the brightness of day as it turns to red and to the black of night speckled with light. These things should be loved and loved dearly for we only have our short lives to view them. Soon we'll be old and torn with wisdom's revelation that we are far from perfect, but the creations of this world and the grand design in which it all revolves around... is.