Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy
cathy_edgett

Letting go -



Joyce reminds me of this poem as comfort with death.



In Blackwater Woods

    by Mary Oliver


Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinammon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.




Ah, and sometimes the letting go, hurts.  I feel like I want to pick scabs off wounds today, and yet, I must wait and let them fall.   Stay with the pain, and let it go.   Let it go!






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