extraordinary and common

Posted on September 12, 2012

 

 

The way of love is not a subtle argument.The door there is devastation.Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom.How do they learn it?They fall, and falling, they’re given wings.–Rumi

 

In April, I received a text from someone I love deeply. It said, “You r extraordinary and common like breath, like birds.” I believe that is one of the most beautiful things that anyone has ever said to me… so poetic. I cherish this text, partly because of its poetic charm and partly because the woman who sent it to me passed away in June. Since she died, I find myself looking back at all of her emails and texts quite often. This one is particularly poignant with respect to where I am in my personal journey.

It occurs to me that some people may read that text and feel offended that the person whom they love thought of them as “common”. Most people strive to assert their individuality. We like to think that we are all unique, rare, uncommon – while at the same time, longing to fit in and be loved. The truth is we all want to be extraordinary AND common.

 

 

As I think about that text message, I begin to wonder how many extraordinary things go unnoticed in my life each day. I often lament the fact that I live in an urban area far from the natural beauty that I crave. However, each day, as I walk to work I look up at the same sky that resides over mountains and seas. Each day, the sky shows me a different mood, from melancholy grey to vibrant orange and deep soulful blue.  Lightning flashes at times, and clouds float and roll, and tower all around me. The world around me reveals its spirit. I just neglect to notice.

 

I suppose it is my challenge to notice, and acknowledge the common beauty that I walk in each day… “like breath, like birds.” And to allow my spirit to delight in that beauty wherever it can be found.

 

Perhaps that is a challenge that we all should accept.

 

Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)

 

The spirit

likes to dress up like this:

ten fingers,

ten toes,

 

shoulders, and all the rest

at night

in the black branches,

in the morning

 

in the blue branches

of the world.

It could float, of course,

but would rather

 

plumb rough matter.

Airy and shapeless thing,

it needs

the metaphor of the body,

 

lime and appetite,

the oceanic fluids;

it needs the body’s world,

 instinct

 

and imagination

and the dark hug of time,

sweetness

and tangibility,

 

to be understood,

to be more than pure light

that burns

where no one is –

 

so it enters us –

in the morning.

- Mary Oliver