White-Eyes—Seeing The Divine In Everything

Today, I want share one of my favorite winter poems, White-Eyes by Mary Oliver. 

First of all, if you haven’t already, ‘tis the season to sign up for my 31-Day Meditation Challenge. It starts January 1 and lasts all through the month. The challenge is simply to meditate any way you wish for 15 minutes a day, every day for the entire month. I’ll be supporting you every step of the way with daily emails, live group meditations sessions, and plenty of recordings, poetry, links, and stories to make the experience very rich. 

Give the world a gift by practicing drawing inward, getting quiet in heart and mind, so you can present a YOU that is more mindful, less reactive, and rooted in compassion. 

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Onto the poem!


Mary Oliver


What I love so much about Mary Oliver's poetry is that so often in her poetry she is speaking to the eternal, the Everything, God, or the Universe by simply reflecting what she sees in nature.

And like in her poem “Bone” I love how she willingly admits that she doesn't fully know what God is but is "playing at the edges of knowing" and that perhaps it’s not about knowing at all, but rather it’s about “seeing, touching, and loving.”

It’s about being present with senses and heart.

Through her poetry, Mary Oliver helps us all to create a touchpoint to the Divine that is present both in our outer and inner worlds and opens us to seeing, touching, and loving as she steers us away from trying to make it all make sense. 

Her poem White-Eyes is about seeing the Divine in something as simple yet complex as the wind dancing through the tree tops and the snow silently drifting down from the heavens. It’s an exposé about how with the “right eyes” or with attuned sight, we might be able to see the loving Divine present in all things.

I hope you enjoy it. 


White-Eyes

white-eyes mary oliver

BY MARY OLIVER


In winter

all the singing is in

         the tops of the trees

          where the wind-bird


with its white eyes

shoves and pushes

         among the branches.

          Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,

but he's restless—

         he has an idea,

          and slowly it unfolds

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from under his beating wings

as long as he stays awake.

         But his big, round music, after all,

          is too breathy to last.


So, it's over.

In the pine-crown

         he makes his nest,

          he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,

I only imagine his glittering beak

         tucked in a white wing

          while the clouds—


which he has summoned

from the north—

         which he has taught

          to be mild, and silent—


thicken, and begin to fall

into the world below

         like stars, or the feathers

               of some unimaginable bird


that loves us,

that is asleep now, and silent—

         that has turned itself

          into snow.



I’d love to hear your thoughts on what this poem says to you.

Drop me a line, I read every email I get. 

May we all be our best by remember those essential phrases:

  • I love you.

  • I’m sorry.

  • How can I help?


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