Prayer
May I never not be frisky,
May I never not be risque.
May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
and give them to the ocean
leap in the froth of the waves,
still loving the moment,
still ready, beyond all else,
to dance for the world.
Mary Oliver, Evidence, (Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2009), page 33
Life is not easily negotiated just now for various reasons. Despite it all, and as a wish to be defiant in a self-preserving way, I pray prayers like this poem. I understand and accept that prayer can be an experience of calming, contemplative, creative and constructive thought. Other times it can be invigorating, ennervating and energising. Or again a serious piece of negotiation between me and God, when I argue and God listens (presumably), and occasionally answers even if I don't always quite pick up the still small voice easily submerged under waves of complaint, self-justification and genuine bewilderment. But this poem is about something else. It is about finding alternative ways to dance when life is like ashes. It's about the latent but faithfully present fun that can be found in life when frisky and risque are not pejoratives to be avoided but compliments to be enjoyed. It's a prayer that says the best way out of ourselves is to love the moment of freedom, to recognise the windows through which joy is glimpsed, to dance not for ourselves, but for the world, and find that the ocean, vast and capacious, has room and energy to buoy us, and turn movement to dance.
Did Mary Oliver mean all that - probably no, and maybe yes. But that's what comes out of my keyboard when I read this poem. Frisky and risque indeed? Indeed! Leap in the froth of the waves - absolutely, where's the beach?
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