Young Eyes and New Breath

What John O'Donohue, Mary Oliver and Ezekiel Tell Us About Young Eyes

Just yesterday, in two different conversations, people from another state and region told me the same thing.  They both mentioned that I seem “young again.”  Since they don’t live near me, their indicators and evidence lies only in my writing. They could not say such a thing because they have seen me. They have not. They only are hearing me—reading me—sensing a new breath and young eyes.

It is these mere words that I am writing from a new place of excavation that these two witnesses see the evidence of a resurrection.  Way down deep in the greening of my soul, is more life than I thought; more life than I had lived and more life that is awaiting me. It—life—is coming out.

It is John O’Donohue, my own Anam Cara, that gifted us with his own excavation work then he said in his marvelous poem, “For a New Beginning:” (Read the poem here and get it in print)

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,

And out you stepped onto new ground,

Your eyes young again with energy and dream,

A path of plenitude opening before you.

O’ Donohue describes a boggy path—a path that is made clear by walking—not by stone and hard principles, that a new beginning is indeed possible in this life.  The cairns that mark this way of newness are:

·      A courage that kindles

·      A stepping out

·      A transformation of our inner eye and outer eye

·      A new sense of energy and ability to dream again

·      A path of plenitude

The word “courage”  has it roots in the Latin for “heart.”  The heart can be rekindled.  What is dead, can live again.  It reminds me of the dead and dry bones that Ezekiel describes. It’s such a wonderful story. Allow me to quote in full context:

The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. ² He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. ³ He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” ⁴ Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. ⁵ Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. ⁶ I will lay sinews on you and will cause flesh to come upon you and cover you with skin and put breath^[b] in you, and you shall live, and you shall know that I am the Lord.”

⁷ So I prophesied as I had been commanded, and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. ⁸ I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them, but there was no breath in them. ⁹ Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath:^[c] Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath,^[d] and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” ¹⁰ I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived and stood on their feet, a vast multitude (Ezekiel 37:1-10).

Go back now and read it one more time. This time, read slowly, noticing key words or phrases.

Could this be your story? I believe it is mine.

Here is the description of humanities deepest longing. A breath, that is not our own comes and changes everything; changes us.

The good news is this: the end is never the end.

This dramatic story offers a progressive and revelatory message about how what is most dead in us, can come back to life.  Ezekiel describes life coming back in stages and phases—not all at once.  Jesus and Lazarus got resurrected. But, for most of us, it takes time, courage, many breaths and rattling noises to wake up and discover that we are not yet dead.

First, a coming together of the bones. Then, the skin and sinews cover the bones. The breath comes and does what only breath can do—it resuscitates the body—it resuscitates us. Our lungs are filled with all that they need to move this sacred breath to all the extremities—even our eyes—to make our eyes young again—to see and to see, as if for the first time now.

And what we see is a path of plenitude.  What a lovely word—plenitude.  This is an open space of freedom not restricted by fences of right and wrong; right doctrine or being in the right tribe.  Plenitude is about far, far more than we have dreamed just yet. The plenitude are the fields of wonder where everything and everyone is the burning bush, ablaze with glory. The plenitude is all things are now possible.

Now, I wonder, if this is like that veil that separates us from the next life---the heaven life?  Why then would we be afraid?

Mary Oliver wrote a poem that describes this so, so well. It’s her magnificient poem, “I looked up:”

I Looked Up

I looked up and there it was
among the green branches of the pitchpines –

thick bird,
a ruffle of fire trailing over the shoulders and down the back –

color of copper, iron, bronze –
lighting up the dark branches of the pine.

What misery to be afraid of death.
What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.

When I made a little sound
it looked at me, then it looked past me.

Then it rose, the wings enormous and opulent,
and, as I said, wreathed in fire.

– Mary Oliver

Did you catch her line? She is bringing us to the place where O’Donohue and Ezekiel —a Trinity of Voices breath their words upon us? Goodness! Here we stand with them, together in that field of plenitude! We stand, dear friends, because of Breath! We stand because of collected breath. We stand because of Sacred Breath.

“What misery to be afraid of death.
What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.”

To feel young again and to be told that you seem “young again” is not about what can be proven, dear friends. It is simply breath—a breath far, far beyond me and you. It is a breath in our new Genesis.

Let’s take a deep breath now.

Breath a big breath in.

Hold it.

Slowly release it.

Notice it.

Name it.

Nurture it.