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The TETELESTAI (It is finished) email which will contain the first 800#'s will be posted first on a private page and will be sent out to everyone subscribed to the private page's feed.

If you wish to subscribe to the private page's feed, please visit the TETELESTAI page located HERE and access the private page.

If you're having trouble please give me an email at TetelestaiDC@gmail.com

(Note: The TETELESTAI post is the official "Go" for redemption/exchange.)

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Sunday, April 9, 2017

"A Tribute to Mary Oliver, Part 4" by Bobbi - 4.9.17

Entry Submitted by Bobbi at 6:07 PM EDT on April 9, 2017

Dear Family,

As you know by now, I have many favorites of Mary Oliver's dazzling poetry and luminous vision. I hope they become your favorites too. Every time I read her poems, they take me to a place where I can see myself and the world and her many creatures filled with Light, Love and Oneness. Mary Oliver is a much-loved Earth Goddess. Thank you for all you are.

Love to all,

Bobbi



Mary Oliver
http://maryoliver.beacon.org

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The Black Snake

by Mary Oliver


When the black snake
flashed onto the morning road,
and the truck could not swerve ---
death, that is how it happens.

Now he lies looped and useless
as an old bicycle tire.
I stop the car
and carry him into the bushes.

He is as cool and gleaming
as a braided whip, he is as beautiful and quiet
as a dead brother.
I leave him under the leaves

and drive on, thinking
about death: its suddenness,
its terrible weight.
its certain coming. Yet under

reason burns a brighter fire, which the bones
have always preferred.
It is the story of endless good fortune.
It says to oblivion: not me!

It is the light at the center of every cell.
It is what sent the snake coiling and flowing forward
happily all spring through the green leaves before
he came to the road.

Humpbacks

by Mary Oliver


There is, all around us,
this country
of original fire.

You know what I mean.

The sky; after all, stops at nothing, so something
has to be holding
our bodies
in its rich and timeless stables or else
we would fly away.

Off Stellwagen
off the Cape,
the humpbacks rise. Carrying their tonnage
of barnacles and joy
they leap through the water, they nuzzle back under it
like children
at play.

They sing, too.
And not for any reason
you can’t imagine.

Three of them
rise to the surface near the bow of the boat,
then dive
deeply, their huge scarred flukes
tipped to the air.

We wait, not knowing
just where it will happen; suddenly
they smash through the surface, someone begins
shouting for joy and you realize
it is yourself as they surge
upward and you see for the first time
how huge they are, as they breach,
and dive, and breach again
through the shining blue flowers
of the split water and you see them
for some unbelievable
part of a moment against the sky ---
like nothing you’ve ever imagined ---
like the myth of the fifth morning galloping
out of the darkness, pouring
heavenward, spinning, then

they crash back under those black silks
and we all fall back
together into that wet fire, you
know what I mean.

I know a captain who has seen them
playing with seaweed, swimming
through the green islands, tossing
the slippery branches into the air.

I know a whale that will come to the boat whenever
she can, and nudge it gently along the bow
with her long flipper.

I know several lives worth living.

Listen, whatever it is you try
to do with your life, nothing will ever dazzle you
like the dreams of your body,

its spirit
longing to fly while the dead-weight bones

toss their dark mane and hurry
back into the fields of glittering fire

where everything,
even the great whale,
throbs with song.

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