Meditations on some poems by Mary Oliver

I want to tattoo poetry down my arms and on each side of every finger. Backward and frontward on my forehead so I can read it in the mirror and others can read it on my face. I want to carve the words in pain and joy along every visible part of me so I won't forget, won't be able to forget, will be forced to remember.

For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,
caution and prudence?
Fall in! Fall in!

How can I keep from forgetting the words, the phrases, the entire whole poems that pluck some string of my soul and make it sing, make it vibrate the whole length of me, make me quiver with hope and anticipation, make me know that I am, in spite of myself, alive?

Let me
    keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
    astonished.

How can I learn to remember to turn my attention at every moment to what it is that matters, to attend to life and the living of it? How can I turn the face of my heart away from the petty dim loves to which fear clings and toward the abundant brilliance that will shatter these poor eyes and melt this brittle shell I've built to enclose the weak but living root of me?

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
    and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

How to remember to let myself break apart, a little more each moment, until I am transformed, until I am made wholly new?

Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?