Mister Wordsworth

There is a poem by Wordsworth (An Ode to Immortality), that suggests we are born with magic still a part of us… that time imprisons our other-worldliness… until we have forgotten all it is to be heavenly creatures.  Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.   Mary Poppins, (a personal hero of mine) shared his philosophy, but for her it included the loss of an innate ability to understand the languages of animals. Remember when she explained to the children that they couldn’t understand what the bird outside the window was saying, because they were too old? Those two must have been in on some kind of ancient wisdom.

Ah, here it is… a little extract of poetry for you:

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;

Turn wheresoe’er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen
I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where’er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.  

I watched a chubby fisted bubba the other day, she was like a miniature conductor, waving her hands with conviction. Commanding the wind, waves and water to do her bidding.  She looked absorbed by the feeling of the wind between her little baby fingers, the sounds and syllables bubbling out from her, a symphony of connection with nature.  She was doing Important Work, of a kind we cannot understand.  Talking to the world itself; to the forces of nature like they were personal friends of hers.

We forget.  We forget how very magical this world is to small people.  The glitter of sun on sea.  The industry of the ant in the microcosm of our own lawn.  The dusty musty warmth of a face buried in the dog’s fur.  The smell of jasmine. That terror-delight as the swing arcs through the air and falls back to earth.  It’s so easy to forget.  We are so busy doing all  the things that “must. be. done”.  Frankly, it bites being the one who must do those things, but it is okay, it’s good, to pause and switch perspective a little sometimes.  Get a little bit of magic back.

When is the last time you lay on your tummy in the grass?  Made snow angels in the sand? Sat in a mud puddle and squiggled your toes through the goop?  Marvelled at the way the sun shines through a marble or the beauty of rainbows in the overspray of the hose?  Have you jumped on the trampoline or ridden a bike lately?  Have you leaned your forehead on the forehead of a loved one, closed your eyes and felt the gloriousness of their presence?

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Dear old Wordsworth.  I’ve thought of him often in the years since my HSC English class.  He knew a thing or two about shaping words to express things that are hard to explain.  And he loved to write about our world and the way we respond to it.  Today, I am going to be a little one again.  I’m going to grab a moment to do something that lets me see the world through the eyes of a child.  Join me?

We, in thought, will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!

– See more of the poem here.

He’s a little bit old fashioned, Mister Wordsworth, but every now and then, a little poetry for me and for thee… makes thine heart filleth with sunshine! 😉  Indeedy and veritably so.