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© 2019 Hector Viveros Lee
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Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Monday, January 28, 2019
Friday, January 25, 2019
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Mary Oliver 1935-2019
Wild Geese
You do not have to be
good.
You do not have to walk on
your knees
for a hundred miles
through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the
soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair,
yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes
on.
Meanwhile the sun and the
clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the
landscapes,
over the prairies and the
deep trees,
the mountains and the
rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese,
high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter
how lonely,
the world offers itself to
your imagination,
calls to you like the wild
geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing
your place
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and
the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I
mean--
the one who has flung
herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating
sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws
back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with
her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale
forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings
open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what
a prayer is.
I do know how to pay
attention,
how to fall down
into the grass,
how to kneel in the
grass,
how to be idle and
blessed,
how to stroll through the
fields,
which is what I have been
doing all day.
Tell me, what else
should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at
last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you
plan to do
With your one wild and
precious life?
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Be still, my soul, and steadfast.
Earth and heaven both are still watching
though time is draining from the clock
and your walk, that was confident and quick,
has become slow.
So, be slow if you must, but let
the heart still play its true part.
Love still as once you loved, deeply
and without patience. Let God and the world
know you are grateful. That the gift has been given.
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
The Gift
Earth and heaven both are still watching
though time is draining from the clock
and your walk, that was confident and quick,
has become slow.
So, be slow if you must, but let
the heart still play its true part.
Love still as once you loved, deeply
and without patience. Let God and the world
know you are grateful. That the gift has been given.
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
Wednesday, January 9, 2019
Contemplative Retreat at St. Clare's
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| This Jesus looks very sexy. He is shirtless, with a face from a model from GQ. Just goes to show where you can find God. |
Sunday, January 6, 2019
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