Mine feels tired.
It aches. It is a little sad today. And weary; yes, definitely weary.
Often, when I am tired I find that I am even more drawn to poetry than I usually am. I am unsure why but I guess, I seek words to comfort me.
Today Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese found me. Mary once said:
“People are more apt to remember a poem and therefore feel they own it. And can speak it to themselves, as you might a prayer.”
I would agree with her.
Poetry is like prayer.
It comforts us in our time of need. It comforts me. Does it comfort you?
You will find these words in her poem, the Wild Geese….
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Isn’t that just wonderfully profound? The “soft animal of your body love what it loves”.
Just let it love what it loves, just let it.
If you like to read Mary’s poem in all its full glory, I share it here with you:
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.
I hope it soothes your soul, as it did mine.