comfort

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, 

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting, 

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

~Mary Oliver

I find this poem in my head a lot.  I've always loved it, but somehow it feels even more relevant now. It's hard not to notice that the world goes on, no matter your despair. That meanwhile the snow makes beauty in the pasture, the currant twig she brought in pushes its brilliant leaves out in February, the tea kettle whistles in the sunshine, their toys, left behind for some new game, shine light into their sweet worlds, and the cat find the softest spot around.

In these moments there is comfort.  Standing in the kitchen, walking to the barn, folding another load of laundry.  

The world offers itself, and calls to you, and announces your place. Whoever you are.  No matter how lonely.

You do not have to walk on your knees, repenting.

This moment now, with the sun making shafts of light across your bed, with the sounds of Beethoven upstairs while he makes tea in the kitchen.  This is letting your body love what it loves.  

This moment now.  All is well.