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 rives.
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.

"Wild Geese"--Mary Oliver


So I think about this poem every day. Every single day. It calms me, it soothes me, it allows me to see myself from a different perspective. The poem evolves. Whenever I think of it, I find the meaning has changed from the previous time. The soft animal of your body. Powerful. Allowing yourself to trust your instincts, to not be ashamed of your feelings, to feel vulnerable. So much is right with this poem. It quells my anxieties. It allows me to breathe.