Wild Geese

WILD GEESE

April 2. It’s a grey snow falling on the cedars kind of a day. Not one speck of sun. The temperature was still in the minuses this morning. We thought we would go for one last ski. What a foolish decision! It wasn’t full of joy. I caught myself thinking ‘how fucking stupid is this!’ several times as I picked/slid/skid carefully and gingerly along the miserably bumpy, icy, gutted tracks. I felt somewhat like Tiny Tim as he tiptoed through the tulips. As I uttered my last expletive a flock of geese flew overhead. I couldn’t help but think of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese. Two of the birds came down to perform a dance for me.

It changed my thoughts completely. I was very happy to be out on that f’g! track. It was so worth it. I wasn’t being good. It wasn’t as bad as if I was walking on my knees. It felt magical being out there with these wild creatures, the snow, the bare trees and the grey sky. I felt part of it all.

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.

WILD GEESE

February 13. 6:11pm. It is -8℃ outside, 3.3℃ in the greenhouse. Today’s high in the greenhouse was 14.4℃ at 12:30 pm. The low -3.5℃ at 6:09 am. I think it’s helpful to track the highs and lows now since it is getting close to ?seeding time. I can’t depend on my memory alone any more.

It is almost closing time to the day and I haven’t made any progress in clearing my trouble spots in the house. I had intentions for the last week. When I start, I don’t know where to start. Damn! I look at an area and I’m stuck, struck motionless with a sinking defeated feeling. I’m wondering how the hell I can break loose.

March 3. 10:21 am. It is -18℃ outside and -3.5℃ in the greenhouse. It seems like we are going backwards, getting colder instead of warmer. I’ve been missing in action for almost 3 weeks. How time flies even when you’re not having fun. Life doesn’t have to be perfect. Most of the time it isn’t so what am I talking about? I’m thinking of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese this morning.

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.

Her words give me comfort. I’m reminded of Sheba and her soft animal body close to mine. Everything is as it should be. The sun still rises and will set and rise again the next morning. We are all in this together. I shall feel what I feel and not fret about it. I do not have to try so hard – not to feel sad, not to feel tired, not to…. I shall let the feelings come and splash them onto my watercolour paper, however they land. They are all lessons in this art we call life.

MEANWHILE THE WORLD GOES ON

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.

Mary Oliver sure can wrangle them words. Wish that they were mine! Meanwhile the wild geese fly. Meanwhile I’m tapping out my words, my distress. Yes, I have been listening to someone’s despair again. Not that they would have call it such. But what would you call it – the losing of one’s identity, job, home, life partner?

I have no need of telling mine. I tap it out here on the page. It does me more good here than recounting out aloud to someone. Then I would be just begging. Oh, please, feel sorry for me. I have suffer so!  I need no such sympathy or pity. It would only make me wallow deeper in my misery. I am listening to the tapping of my keyboard. The cadence is soothing on my frayed nerves. I’m comforting myself. I wonder if cutting or flagellating oneself have the same mechanism of relief.  It’s good that I don’t have to physically hurt myself to do so.

There! I’m almost myself again – soothed and smoothed.  I’ve listened to too much despair and sadness. I’m not willing to do so anymore. I will offer them Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese instead.

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.

ONCE UPON A TIME -day 111 in a year of…

Day 111, November 13, 2016 @5:09 pm

img_1628Words come easy.  Words come hard.  They come different on different days, caught up in the nuance of where I’ve been.  I have been lost in thoughts and not in real time today.  The words are tumbling in my mind/head like clothes in the dryer barrel.  Now sorting and excavating them is challenging.  But I’ve always loved challenges.

NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month of writing a novel of 50,000 words is too much for me though.  That is why I’m here pecking out my few words daily.  I have no fairy tales to tell. This is an exercise in purging what is not true or desirable.  It’s difficult and painful though it may not be visible to the reader.  I struggle coming to the keyboard every day.

img_8368Some days I don’t make it.  That’s how it is.  That’s how we are.  I’m learning and understanding about our human nature.  I don’t feel as guilty for my short comings.  I don’t punish myself as much.  I try again and again to come back to what is true.  Our stories, our struggles are important to tell.  They are gifts to be shared.  We see that we are all the same.  We all struggle.  We all suffer.  We all have ‘the soft animal of your body’ in Mary Oliver ‘s poem, Wild Geese.  We can connect in our vulnerability.