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To Somehow Find Our Way | Still Amazed

Tomorrow will mark a year since my mother’s death. I am absolutely a different person now than I was a year ago and that’s all I want to say about that, which is probably a relief to readers of this blog who have seen me through some tortured searching here. But to paraphrase Naomi Shihab Nye (in her poem Adios ), each of us has heard an adios before we knew what it meant and how very long it was for. Many of us have heard more than one such good-bye. Little by little we begin to understand. The lessons follow lessons, the silence follows sound. We must somehow find our way. Here’s a poem I love by Stanley Kunitz that speaks of death, but as a kind of release, conveying a drowsy, comforting sense of peace and absolution. The Long Boat by Stanley Kunitz. When his boat snapped loose. from its mooring, under. the screaking of the gulls,. he tried at first to wave. to his dear ones on shore,. but in the rolling fog. they had already lost their faces. somehow he felt absolved and free. stamped on his name-tag:. buffeted by the storm,. endlessly drifting. To be rocked by the Infinite. As if it didn’t matter. which way was home. as if he didn’t know. he’d loved the earth so much. he wanted to stay forever. Right now a storm is blowing in, with strong south winds. We’ll soon be putting up the canvas window covers to keep out sideways rain. The interior of our house, which is usually open and airy and filled with outside light, immediately closes in on us when these go up, and it will feel abruptly dark inside, the official beginning of winter. But at last we’ll be getting some of that much-needed rain. Hills will green, creeks will flow, the cycle of seasons will continue as it should. Beautiful earth. Beautiful sky.