There has been a lot to process around here this week. If I could wrap my head around it, I would be able to put it all to words. For now, know that there are mountains of goodness to go with the surprises and sorrows which take my voice and my energy. In other words, it has been just another week, only everything has been one hundred fold, and each new wonderful moment seems to chase on the tail of each worry.
For some reason, this poem has always stayed with me, and has come back to me again today. I thought I would share it with you. Maybe you’ve seen it before.
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 rain
and 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