Wild Geese

This season has been an interesting one. Go, go, go. Lots of work, and travel, and exercise and food and good things. And then lots of saying yes to the things that I don't want to do, but should do because. And then I end up tired because I don't have enough hours in my days and days in my weeks.  In those kinds of seasons, poems like this bring me back. They remind me that I don't have to hustle for my worth. That it's ok to be happy and to pursue what you love. That I have a place to belong. And that there is a natural rhythm to this world, and to our days.

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 (Dream Work)