The Real Work of Life

I’ve been thinking about life and purpose and why I am here, now, in this place. And though I have no answers I keep coming back to this idea. Perhaps

is to simply be here now. To laugh. And love. But above all to be curious about it all and to pay attention.

I rose this morning early as usual, and went to my desk.
But it’s spring,

and the thrush is in the woods,
somewhere in the twirled branches, and he is singing.

And so, now, I am standing by the open door.
And now I am stepping down onto the grass.

I am touching a few leaves.
I am noticing the way the yellow butterflies
move together, in a twinkling cloud, over the field.

And I am thinking: maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.

Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.

— Mary Oliver

Some days when I hear the news of the world it’s all I can do to keep from crying. And when I think about life and loss and losing even more it almost takes me down. But then I look around me at the beauty of this world. And I listen to bird song and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. That makes me believe that experiencing this, the world around me, is the poem, the joy, and the reason I am here.

So I keep on paying attention to everything I can, the pain and sorrow as well as the beauty and joy. Instead of feeling guilty because I feel so blessed in my life, I feel gratitude. And I hold those who are suffering in my heart. And sometimes I sing to myself in a quiet whisper, “Every little thing will be okay…”

Do you also wonder what is the real work of life?

May you walk in beauty.

Note: Photos today from my walk this morning at West Medicine Lake Park.