The Book of Life
Take a measure of me and my heart.
This line from President Biden’s inauguration speech made time stop. As he said it, words flowing before and after, those words rang through the air for me as if they were on fire.
When a poet reads their work and a line reverberates like that, we call it the crux of the poem. It’s one line revealing what the piece is deeply about. The line has heat—and seems to matter more than others—and it's one that comes from sacred space where the poem was birthed.
Setting politics aside for a moment—and really, set them aside—how does this statement resonate for you?
Take a measure of me and my heart.
It’s a powerful order to us bumping our way about in the universe.
This is what I imagine whispering to the angels when I make that one and only transition from life into death. Take a measure of me and my heart. How did I do with that one life I was given?
I have been with three people in that moment—my grandmother Inez, my mom, and my dad. I watched them each slide from life into death, holding one of their hands in my own.
Decades later, I still remember each of their hands. My father had craftsman’s hands—square, strong, meant to engineer and build things. My mother and her mother had artists’ hands, replete with creativity and grace. Hands that clung to life in one moment and then fell gentle and empty afterwards into my own.
In that moment when my own hand drops quiet, I imagine I will think, How has my life mattered? Who have I been? What impact have I had?
It reminds me of these lines from Mary Oliver’s poem “The Summer Day”:
“Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
If I could, I would love to ask of a blue whale: let me take a measure of your heart. Blue whales have the largest hearts of the animal kingdom. Scientists say their hearts can weigh 400 pounds—the size of a bumper car.
I like to imagine what it’s like living into that size heart, gliding through the deep waters of the planet. What would it be like to have a heart that big?
Living into the potential of that heart could take a lifetime.
I probably won’t get to meet the heart of a great blue whale. So, all I do know is this: When the universe holds up that giant ruler to take a measure on that day down the road, the ruler won’t be wooden. Not like the ones we used to draw perfect pencil lines in grade school. This ruler will be translucent—and tender, and merciful. And I believe it is held up again and again with great love.