I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So simple. Then I lie back until I am inside the cloud that is just above me
I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So simple. Then I lie back until I am inside the cloud that is just above me but very high, and shaped like a fish. Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place of not-thinking, not-remembering, not- wanting. When the blue jay cries out his riddle, in his carping voice, I return. But I go back, the threshold is always near. Over and back, over and back. Then I rise. Maybe I rub my face as though I have been asleep. But I have not been asleep. I have been, as I say, inside the cloud, or, perhaps, the lily floating on the water. Then I go back to town, to my own house, my own life, which has now become brighter and simpler, some- where I have never been before.
—Mary Oliver, Six Recognitions of the Lord from her collection Thirst (Beacon Press 2006)
I wonder if the Guinea pig from The Magician’s Nephew is still alive, eating grass in the Woods Between Worlds.
Imagine sometime someone else travels there and just kinda stares at this lil thing, eating grass, chillin and being perfectly content.