Brian’s Reflection: Monday, February 22, 2010
It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere.
It's little I know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little I know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet go.
I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.
I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.
But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I care:
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.
'Is something the matter, dear,' she said,
'That you sit at your work so silently?'
'No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea.'
Edna St. Vincent Millay, poet, born on
this date, 1892, in Rockland, Maine
As Life wonderfully is, I was with dear friends last year travelling about NY State from opera to opera. And we chanced upon Austerlitz NY and were thrilled to find the home of Edna St. Vincent Millay. We immediately decided to go there – and we had a lovely time roaming the grounds of her home, and visiting with the curator of the “monument”. Here’s the sign we saw at the Post Office, and my dear dear friend Gilly will not mind her photo shared, taken in Ms. Millay’s garden!
The poem is long. But perfect. It reminds us of how much of the Truth, and our pain, about ourselves we hide. Don’t. This is Lent for Christians – but for all of us Life demands, for authenticity, we “own up”. Make the tea – but be honest with yourself.