Love Yourself, Forget It, Then Love the World

Musings, a poem, and what I witnessed on a recent walk

At a certain point in my life, it dawned on me that it’s no longer appropriate to say things like, “I’m so busy” or “I’ve got a lot going on” as excuses for putting off an appointment, taking a while to respond with an email, call, or text, or putting things off that I keep saying I want to do.

Life will always be life-ing. There will always be something to navigate.

We celebrate one thing, while grieving another.

We feel the anxiety of uncertainty, while also eager for new horizons ahead.

We tackle our list of to-dos, while carving out pockets of stillness.

And so on.

It’s both/and.

Anyway, it’s Tuesday morning and I am staring at columns of boxes around my home – which is technically no longer my home. We move on Thursday.

But our move isn’t the only thing on my mind. I’m thinking of my concern for the health of loved ones; I’m thinking of the recent joys of my children; I’m thinking of my friends and the grief that they are experiencing in their lives; I’m thinking of exciting possibilities that await; I’m thinking of memories that feel so far away; I’m thinking of the fun of moving into a new place; I’m thinking of the sadness I’ve felt in leaving our family home.

It’s both/and.

It’s Hard.

I’m also thinking of the homeless man who was shouting at a family crossing a street close to my home the other day when I was out walking. I’ve seen him before. He sits and shouts. I usually cross the street and mind my business. 

He was shouting to the family – a mom, a dad, and a son in his 20s, “You worthless mother-f*ckers!” He shouted it over and over.

I saw the dad stop, turn around, and start back for the homeless man, shouting back to him, “You calling us worthless mother-f*ckers?! You calling us worthless mother-f*ckers?!”

The homeless man rose from where he was seated, and the two faced off, mere feet from each other, both shouting. I couldn't hear exactly what was being said – they were both shouting at each other at the same time.

The mom looked concerned. The son looked concerned – he started to walk towards his dad. “Tommy, don’t,” I heard the mom say. 

The shouting continued for a moment until I heard the homeless man suddenly shout out,

“I’m sorry, okay?! 

It’s hard.”

Whoosh. In an instant the charge between the two evaporated. Shackles down. The veil of separation lifted.

I’m sorry. It’s hard.

The two began a conversation of which I could no longer hear. I kept walking … and looking behind every so often. They were still there talking. About what, I don’t know. But I imagine humanity came into play. When I turned back one final time, blocks away, the dad was still there talking with the homeless man. Maybe offering help, maybe just listening. Because he knows, we all know, sometimes it’s hard.

Maybe just listening and letting someone feel seen is the greatest service that we can offer.

Love Yourself, and Then Love the World

This morning after my meditation, I wanted to add a piece of beauty to my day. And so, I picked up one of my favorite books of poems, Devotions by Mary Oliver.

I opened a page I had dog-eared. It spoke to me today, and so I’m sharing it with you here. 

If today feels hard, I’m sorry. Perhaps this piece might help in some small way.

To Begin With, The Sweet Grass

By Mary Oliver

1.

Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat

of the sweet grass?

Will the owl bite off its own wings?

Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or

forget to sing?

Will the rivers run upstream?

Behold, I say—behold

the reliability and the finery and the teachings

of this gritty earth gift.

2.

Eat bread and understand comfort.

Drink water, and understand delight.

Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets

are opening their bodies for the hummingbirds

who are drinking the sweetness, who are

thrillingly gluttonous.

For one thing leads to another.

Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot.

Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.

And someone’s face, whom you love, will be as a star

both intimate and ultimate,

and you will be both heart-shaken and respectful.

And you will hear the air itself, like a beloved, whisper:

oh, let me, for a while longer, enter the two

beautiful bodies of your lungs.

3.

The witchery of living

is my whole conversation

with you, my darlings.

All I can tell you is what I know.

Look, and look again.

This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.

It’s more than bones.

It’s more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.

It’s more than the beating of the single heart.

It’s praising.

It’s giving until the giving feels like receiving.

You have a life—just imagine that!

You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe

still another.

4.

Someday I am going to ask my friend Paulus,

the dancer, the potter,

to make me a begging bowl

which I believe

my soul needs.

And if I come to you,

to the door of your comfortable house

with unwashed clothes and unclean fingernails,

will you put something into it?

I would like to take this chance.

I would like to give you this chance.

5.

We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we

change.

Congratulations, if

you have changed.

6.

Let me ask you this.

Do you also think that beauty exists for some

fabulous reason?

And, if you have not been enchanted by this adventure—

your life—

what would do for you?

7.

What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself.

Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to.

That was many years ago.

Since then I have gone out from my confinements,

though with difficulty.

I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.

I cast them out, I put them on the mush pile.

They will be nourishment somehow (everything is nourishment

somehow or another).

And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.

I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is.

I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned,

I have become younger.

And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?

Love yourself.  Then forget it.  Then, love the world.

Try This

Yesterday, as my husband and I were walking into Home Depot, I said to him, “Let’s see how many people we can smile at in the store. How many people we can look at in the eye and smile.”

Many didn’t catch my eye, but the intention was there. I just walked around smiling at each person. Because sometimes it’s hard. Can one smile make a difference in anyone’s day?

Try it — and tell me.

Thanks for reading. If you feel like this might help someone today, please share.

Keep holding the light. xo, Laurie