A nod to Mary Oliver…

A poem is successful not when we understand it intellectually, but when it makes us feel something authentic, when it changes how we see the world, even if just for a moment. It’s meant to be a doorway to deeper experience, a bridge to greater awareness, a reminder of what it means to be fully alive.

At its heart, poetry is meant to wake us up to life, to help us feel more deeply, see more clearly, and live more fully. It’s meant to remind us that we’re not alone in our experiences, that others have felt what we feel, seen what we see, wondered what we wonder.

In today’s world of constant noise and information, poetry offers something rare: a moment of concentrated meaning, a chance to slow down and really feel something, an opportunity to connect with our deeper selves and with others through shared human experience.

Recently my father sent me this poem from the great poet Mary Oliver and it did exactly what poems are meant to do. It transported and comforted me.

When I Am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

A poem is successful not when we understand it intellectually, but when it makes us feel something authentic, when it changes how we see the world, even if just for a moment. It’s meant to be a doorway to deeper experience, a bridge to greater awareness, a reminder of what it means to be fully alive.

Poetry makes the familiar strange and the strange familiar. Through metaphor and imagery, it helps us see everyday things as if for the first time. A tree isn’t just a tree in poetry – it might become a cathedral of Light, a keeper of time, or a bridge between earth and sky. Poetry approaches experiences sideways, through image and metaphor, helping us grasp what logic alone cannot reach.

When Mary Oliver writes about walking in the woods, 

she’s really writing about being alive, about paying attention, 

about our relationship with the natural world – experiences we all share.

Indulge me as I take a personal take on the great poet’s work.

Wild Trees Calling

A Heart’s Journey to Londolozi

When it comes to the ancient Marula trees, there is only one thing to do: to stand beneath their spreading canopy, and let your heart find its natural rhythm.

Where the Jackalberry trees grow tall against African skies, where Leadwood sentinels stand watch over generations, here at Londolozi, the wild heart remembers what the modern world makes us forget.

These trees, some older than time itself, know the secret language of elephants, have witnessed leopards rest in their branches, and hold stories in their rings that span centuries.

The Kigelia whispers in the morning light, its crimson blooms  that open at night and drop by morning, leaving their mysterious sausage shaped fruit scattered on the grounds, a reminder of nature’s poetry, while the Knobthorn’s thorny embrace protects the secrets of the savanna.

Like the steady beat of an African drum, these trees pulse with Earth’s own rhythm. Their electromagnetic fields dance with our own, creating a symphony of natural resonance.

Here, beneath these ancient guardians, your heart finds its way back to coherence. Each breath shared with these trees is a return to something primordial and true.

At the Healing House we use poetry in retreats in opening ceremonies with the purpose to draw our guests into a reunion with themselves and nature. So we hope you come and let your heart beat in time with the wild pulse of the Londolozi wilderness. Let these magnificent trees remind you of the connection that was never truly lost. In this place where the wild still roams free, where trees tell stories older than memory, your heart will remember its ancient song, in harmony with the rhythm of life itself.

Come to Londolozi, where the trees teach us how to listen, where hearts remember how to dance, and where the wild still speaks to those who pause to hear.