The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling
Like Mary Oliver, I’ve spent time pondering these strange questions:
Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so briefly?
“Although it is one of the larger moths in North America, the adults have a lifespan of only about one week. Known for its beautiful lime-colored green wings and white bodies, the luna moth has appeared in the Dragon Prince as the archangel lunaris, or the giant moon moth.” Is the luna moth sad because it lives so briefly? Does it even know how short-lived it is? If it took God seven days to create all of creation, was the luna moth part of God’s plan? If the luna moth is able to complete its mission in only one week, why be sad? What do we seek, longevity or quality of life?
Who can guess the impatience of stone longing to be ground down, to be part again of something livelier?
I know too much about longing, longing for things just out of my reach, only visible to my mind’s eye. But why long to be ground down? I also know about impatience. It seems as if the older I get the more impatient I become. And yet, Mary Oliver suggests that the end product of our impatient longing is something livelier. Funny how grinding down can buoy one up.
Who can imagine in what heaviness the rivers remember their original clarity?
Ha! Sadness, longing impatience, and now heaviness weigh me down. They cloud my imagination. Distort my memories. Burden me at times. Then with clarity, I remember my blessedness, my goodness, and my unity with our Creator. I remember that I am only one small part of something livelier, like a bubbling brook, bouncing over smooth rocks, being ground down by the loving caress of flowing water. Then, in this moment of original clarity, I can see straight down to the bedrock and far ahead with renewed hope.
Moths become caterpillars and butterflies. Mountains become molehills and beaches. And the rivers that run through our lives eventually converge, returning to the garden from which they came. Never forgetting the Spirit that sustains us, my spirit grows with curiosity, my life becomes richer, and I bow humbly to the One who created all things bright and beautiful.
The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers by Mary Oliver
Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so briefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone longing to be ground down, to be part again of something livelier?
Who can imagine in what heaviness the rivers remember their original clarity?
Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile time with them.
And I suggest them to you also, that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life be richer than it is,
that you bow to the earth as you feel how it actually is,
that we—so clever, and
ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained—
are only one design of the moving, the vivacious many.
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