Spring Azures, The Soot and Sill, and A New Narrative.

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In spring the blue azures bow down
at the edges of shallow puddles
to drink the black rain water.
Then they rise and float away into the fields.

Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,
and all the tricks my body knows―
the opposable thumbs, the kneecaps,
and the mind clicking and clicking—

don’t seem enough to carry me through this world
and I think: how I would like

to have wings—
blue ones—
ribbons of flame.

How I would like to open them, and rise
from the black rain water.

And then I think of Blake, in the dirt and sweat of London—a boy
staring through the window, when God came
fluttering up.

Of course, he screamed,
and seeing the bobbin of God’s blue body
leaning on the sill,
and the thousand-faceted eyes.

Well, who knows.
Who knows what hung, fluttering, at the window
between him and the darkness.

Anyway, Blake the hosier’s son stood up
and turned away from the sooty sill and the dark city—
turned away forever
from the factories, the personal strivings,

to a life of the the imagination.

- Mary Oliver

You can find a.m. on Instagram and TikTok at @absurdwisdom. We are produced and distributed by DAE Presents, the production arm of DAE (@dae.community on Instagram and online at mydae.org).

The views and opinions expressed in this podcast are those of the speakers and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of any entities they represent. While we make every effort to ensure that the information shared is accurate, we welcome any comments, suggestions, or correction of errors.

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Episode Transcript

(01:33):
Hey everyone.
So this is another short andsolo episode and it is the last
one of this season.
We've completed a year of this.
There are more of these than Iwould've imagined.
40 plus, I'm told And we'regonna take a little pause just
for a few weeks and then pickback up in almost exactly four
weeks with a well wait and seea, a new focus.
Hopefully you'll come back andlisten.

(01:54):
So I I don't know if I've talkedabout this in, in the previous
episode, but I've sort ofevolved to this understanding of
the year not being January toDecember for a variety of
reasons.
One is it just like, like I'vealways hated New Year's and the
sort of weight of it and the,the silliness of it.
But also I don't want to beginand end my year in darkness, you
know, if you're living here inthe Northeast, you know, the end
of December, it's like kind ofthe peak dark and gloomy.

(02:17):
And then last year here, weconverted our fiscal calendar to
July to June.
And so that worked out nicely interms of how I think about
things in life in general.
And so the end of June is theend of the year on practical
terms.
Now for DAE it's the end of thefiscal year, but for me, it's
sort of, you know, myunderstanding of things, it's
the end of the year.
And July starts a new year.
And so my year ends and beginsin sort of warmth and light and

(02:39):
sunshine.
And that middle part of theyear, December, the end of
December is exactly themidpoint.
And you know, a good time forquiet calm, introspective, you
know, calibration hibernation,et cetera.
So, so this is the end of theyear.
And, and the end of this season.
So there's a lot that's happenedin my personal space and,
certainly in my nonprofit and inmy broader teaching work at the

(03:01):
university and a couple of otherplaces.
I'll actually go more into whenwe pick back up in July But for,
for, for now, I would say what Iwant to say is in, in kind of
closing the year I've gonethrough cycles in my life of
sort of redefining myself and,you know, kind of keeping the
core clear, and hopefully everevolving, but, but everything
around the core if, you know,really radically shifting

(03:23):
periodically.
And you know, this currentiteration of life has been
interesting and like previousincarnations, but even more so
feels like a very clearculmination and Germination of
previous cycles.
You know, there's a certainthing about living in cycles,
like the seasons, right?
Where you know, the leaves thatpopped on the trees here in the

(03:44):
spring, they're not new.
The trees have leaves in thespring.
This is what happens.
And yet they're new.
And previous cycles of growthstrengthen the branch and, you
know, the trunk.
And, and while the leaves arenew they're not new.
And, and yet they're.
Different in a certain way,better, deeper expression of
that tree, et cetera, right?
So this past year has been areally interesting midpoint of a

(04:06):
cycle.
You know, I started this nonprofit about four years ago.
I made some other pretty radicalshifts about four years ago.
We're fully entrenched in thisparticular season which will
last maybe another three or fouryears before we consider what
else is next.
And I think by three or fouryears, the non profit will be
established enough that I canlegitimately think about other
things and responsibly thinkabout other things.
So this feels like we're in themiddle of the sort of post

(04:27):
adolescent phase of things andI'm rambling a bit here because
I'm, I'm trying to, trying tounderstand what it is I'm
saying, which is often what Ido.
And I think what I want to sayis maybe a capstone.
I have another poem for you fromour friend cousin Mary, Mary
Oliver.
And, she's of course gonna sayit better, than I can.
It's sort of tying together alot of the conversations we've
had.
And in here on this podcastwith, with Ben and with some of

(04:49):
the DAE folks and others about,living out of the narrative, you
know, living in the world andall that, but living out of the
narrative and really doing thework to kind of identify your
own narrative.
And each of these cycles I'mspeaking to is, another volume.
It's not even another chapter,right?
So I feel like I'm in the middlechapter of the current volume of
this collection of books that ismy life being written day by

(05:11):
day.
And so there's this value ofstepping out of whatever
narratives you found yourselfin, whatever narratives you were
born into, whatever narrativesthe society you were born into
had, and really taking ownershipof narrating your own life and
understanding the chapters of astory, and then understanding
when that story is over and whenit's time to You know, after
maybe a short pause, getting towork on the next novel as it

(05:32):
were, the next phase of yourlife that you're going to write.
So all of that occurs to me as,you know I don't know, whatever,
maybe mildly sentimental end ofthe year sort of ruminations end
of my version of the year, youknow, end of June and end of
this cycle of, of the AbsurdWisdom Podcast.
So let me read at you from MaryOliver and this one is called
Spring Azures.
In the spring the blue azuresbow down at the edges of shallow

(05:55):
puddles and drink the blackrainwater.
Then they rise and float awayinto the fields.
Sometimes the great bones of mylife feel so heavy.
And all the tricks my bodyknows, the opposable thumbs, the
kneecaps, the mind clicking andclicking don't seem enough to
carry me through this world.
And I think how I would like tohave wings, blue ones, ribbons

(06:16):
of flame.
How I would like to open themand rise from the black
rainwater.
And then you think of Blake inthe dirt and sweat of London, a
boy staring out the window whenGod came fluttering up.
Of course he screamed and seeingthe bobbin of God's blue body
leaning on the sill in thethousand faceted eyes.
Well, who knows?
Who fluttering at the windowbetween him and the darkness.

(06:40):
Anyway, Blake, the Hozier's son,stood up and turned away from
the sooty sill in the dark city.
Turned away forever from thefactories, the personal
strivings, and to a life of theimagination.
I think that's all there is,kids.
You know they were responsibleturning away from the soot and
sill not a denying of it, not afighting of it, not even a

(07:01):
leaving of it physically but aturning away from it as, as a
narrative that one must live.
And instead sort of surroundingyourself to a life of
imagination and maybe being inthe exact same physical space
and the exact same physical bodyand the exact same physical
circumstances.
And yet being somebody new.
I'll see y'all in July.