"THIS IS MY LIFE AND I FEEL SO ALIVE" m.k.

I found a young poet, new to me.  I hope you like this poem too. 

I WANT TO WAKE UP EVERY MORNING,

EXCITED FOR WHAT IS TO COME.

I WANT TO LOOK UP AT THE SKY 

AND FEEL THE WARM SUN ON MY FACE.

I WANT TO GO ON WALKS AND HIKES

AND FEEL HEALTHY AND STRONG.

I WANT TO FEEL PRODUCTIVE AND SATISFIED.

I WANT TO TAKE MORE PHOTOGRAPHS

AND TAKE UP NEW HOBBIES.

I WANT TO BECOME FRIENDS

WITH MORE INTERESTING PEOPLE

WHO WILL TEACH ME ABOUT

PLACES I'VE NEVER BEEN.

I WANT TO FEEL ALIVE.  
m.k.

Isn't a lot of what she wants what we want? This was written by the poet Madisen Kuhn who goes by m.k.  She also wrote this, and at age 17,

 I will not ask you to stay

If you must go, go

I don't need you

I will breathe (carefully) without you

I will smile (slowly) without you

I will go on (eventually) without you 

The pace of this poem is just right. It matches the thoughts.  Mostly one syllable words. You can read the first 3 lines quickly.  They're kind of gutsy.  Then in the last 3 lines we see that the "go I don't need you" is bravado. The pace changes, we get parentheses and multi-syllable words.  Even the one syllable words, "smile" and "breathe" take longer to say. The poem slows with the poet's thoughts.  No bravado now.  The depth of the loss is revealed, but it's not unbearable.  There's hope. Tentative, but still . . . she's young.  She knows her life will go on.  The poet took care with this poem. 
 
Many of her other lines are lovely too.  

you are the song 
i want to listen to

Have we felt this way about someone we love?  Do we feel this way now?  This poem ends,

and oh God
this is my life and

i feel so alive 

Some days I wonder, how can the work of someone born in 1996, just 22 years ago, touch my emotions?  But it does.  So age--youth, middle age or old age--is no barrier.  Creativity, thoughtfulness, soulfulness are not age-bound.  That is the lesson I'm learning.  Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) was young when she wrote The Bell Jar. I was young when I read it.  John Keats (1795-1821)was young when he wrote and young when he died.  I enjoyed him when I was young and can enjoy him now, even his prose.  When Keats was depressed he wrote, 

 I am in that temper that if I were under water

 I would scarcely kick to come to the top. 

Such an image.  So much less formal than his poetry. 

John Milton (1608-1674) wrote as an old man.  He could not see.  I studied Paradise Lost in college.  I was young, he was old.  After my course in Milton I chose to be baptized and confirmed.  So strong was his influence.

Milton's Sonnet XIX about his blindness ends with the line, 

They also serve who only stand and wait. 

Just 8 words.  But so powerful.  The idea pushes no one aside.  We do not have to earn God's love with talents we may not have.  We can stand and wait.  We can do this no matter what our age or abilities--young, old, able or challenged.  How reassuring. 

Beethoven (1770-1827) composed when old and deaf.  Van Gogh died at 37.  So, yes, age is not relevant. None of us knows who will have a vertical audience, narrow but lasting through the ages, who will have a horizontal audience (best sellers that disappear as their replacement arrives), who will go unrecognized in their lifetime only to inspire after their death (Anne Frank, Van Gogh, Emily Dickinson), who journals and diaries in secret never to be known . . . .

Is there a moral or conclusion to be drawn? I don't know. Maybe that whatever our age this is our life and we can feel so alive.  We can learn from anyone.  We can teach anyone.  We can be public.  We can be private. We can be the one who stands and waits.  

 

 

EASTER IS ABOUT DYING AND RISING. SO IS LIFE.

Last Sunday was Easter.  How was your week?  Your month?  Ours has been up and down.  Two weeks ago over Palm Sunday weekend we attended the funeral of a dear friend, my age. Friends for 20 years. Is there anything harder than the death of a friend who is our own age?  Sudden, no illness.  Her husband left a widower without warning.  Although my friends and I are mostly past the age of dying young, that was no consolation at the funeral.  Nor does it seem to console as we continue to miss her.  

Then as Holy week progressed, we spent Good Friday with three grandchildren who had the day off school.  They are at the age where fart jokes are THE BEST!  Forgive me for mentioning these ridiculous sounds in the same paragraph with Good Friday.  But I know everyone remembers this stage.  Or is in the midst of this, with nieces, nephews, children or grandchildren.  One grandchild found great obnoxious-sound-makers for the others.  The pièce de résistance of the Easter Baskets.  And of course Alexa, the far-field voice control genius, is the wonder woman of disgusting noises and follow-up descriptive comments.  We listened to her while we played card games, doubled over with laughter.  A silly day.  Then we hit the road.  I hope the children settled down for their evening service. 

Pieta, Michelangelo

Good Friday for us usually culminates in a Tenebrae Service of Darkness where the candles are extinguished one by one until only the Christ candle is left.  It too is removed and a loud noise of a book slamming shut follows.  Everyone leaves in silence.  But this year we shared a lovely Seder celebrating Jewish Passover at the home of friends.  We learned how to repeat longer and longer incantations in one breath.  We drank 4 mandated cups of wine--how relaxing is that?  We welcomed Elijah.  We all felt so uplifted.  Then . . . .

On Easter Saturday we received word that another dear friend has breast cancer.  Found in a routine mammogram. She saw the radiologist yesterday and will see the surgeon next week.  Later the same day another beloved grandpa in the family was rushed to the ER.  He spent his Easter in the ICU.  Three stents and angioplasty for a heart that had seemed perfectly fine.  

So Easter is about dying and rising and I feel like that is what we do.  At the funeral of our friend her young granddaughter honored us with her beautiful God-given voice singing "And He will raise you up on eagles' wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun.  And hold you in the palm of His hand." ♬  I hope you know the melody.  

The Seder was the perfect segue into the Resurrection. Easter we spent alone with church, brunch and a day outdoors.  

Isn't life like this?  We have wonderful times then a reminder triggers something sad, a disappointment or grief.  Right in the midst of happiness.  Or the other way around. We're stuck in an involuntary repetitive thought when something lovely intervenes, something simple like a fragrance or the sight of spring blooms or a boy with his dog.  


I am not a philosopher or theologian. I have no moral or wisdom to offer. I am just an observer.  But I see dying and rising everywhere.  In our love for one another.  In nature.  In our goals and dreams.  In our health.  In the poetry I read.  And this week in Easter.  Do you see it too?   With blessings for us all, Nina Naomi