Wednesday, October 27, 2010

we are risen, tangled

it is a strange thing to ask...
but when you eat something fresh, something you picked or caught or
gathered with your very own hands
something that had its own life and has now become your sustenance
when that miracle touches the softcells of your mouth
and its particles become
when you let them wash into your body, through your systems,
and they become your blood, your energy, your life ~
do you think about your own death?

i thought about this when i read Mary Oliver's poem, the Fish... the miracle of the tangled life we lead with all that is around us, all that sustains us and the incredible amount of Life that goes so completely unoticed every day. ingested, yet not fully digested.  but what happens when we notice how life leads into life, and notice those little deaths that offer us life each day?  would we live differently, die differently? is the light somehow different, the taste that much sweeter?  the mysteries more wondrous....

The Fish 
The first fish
I ever caught
would not lie down
quiet in the pail
but flailed and sucked
at the burning
amazement of the air
and died
in the slow pouring off
of rainbows. Later
I opened his body and separated
the flesh from the bones
and ate him. Now the sea
is in me: I am the fish, the fish
glitters in me; we are
risen, tangled together, certain to fall
back to the sea. Out of pain,
and pain, and more pain
we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
by the mystery.

~ by Mary Oliver

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