Kill Me with Delight

Mindful
by Mary Oliver

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for—
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world—
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant—
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

Many of us are finding ourselves in the liminal space between pandemic and normality, sickness and health, grief and joy. It is easy to see the drab, the darkness, the dreadful, isn’t it? It’s much harder to look for those little things that kill us with delight, “the untrimmable light,” especially in times like these.

But every day I look for them. I see the just-checking-in text from a dear friend, the turning-colors leaves about to fall, the tail that seems to wag the whole dog. I hear the love in my husband’s voice greeting me after work, and I see the Creator’s joy in our always-colorful mandevilla blossoms. I hear it in the everyday wisdom of a mother who is, without fail, supportive and loving.

And then I lose myself in them.

As Mary Oliver says, I “lose myself inside this soft world.” Because if I don’t, I’m in danger of losing myself inside this hard world, full of corners and edges and hard spots. So I work on allowing myself to be killed with delight by the ordinary.

What small moments of ordinary joy can surprise you today?

—Andi Lewis, Prairiewoods marketing coordinator