I had a dog
who loved flowers.
Briskly she went
through the fields,
for the honeysuckle
or the rose,
her dark head
and her wet nose
of every one
with its petals
with its fragrance
into the air
where the bees,
heavy with pollen,
not in the serious,
that we choose
this blossom or that blossom—
the way we praise or don’t praise—
the way we love
or don’t love—
but the way
we long to be—
in the heaven of earth—
that wild, that loving.
~Mary Oliver “Luke” from Dog Songs
Why do we not feel the joie de vivre,
the ebullience and fullness of every moment?
What makes us hide our nakedness rather than join in the walk
in the garden in the cool of the day?
What makes us choose this blossom or that, this tree or that,
this fruit or that, judging for ourselves what is good, better and best?
What has happened to wild loving appreciation of the heaven of earth?
We gave it up for one taste; we lost heaven and regretted it immediately.
Even so, joie de vivre awaits,
beyond this, above this.
We are invited, all expenses paid,
to go back to the way we long to be:
The incredible grace of loving wildly what we’re given.