Mother

Who are 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.

Mary Oliver, "Wild Geese"

That Which Is

You are more than what binds you. You are more than the passing moment, more than the feelings that sway you. You are sunlight on leaves at dawn, gauzy light brushing through dew to cast shadows that glow on the grass beneath. You are the smell of lillies in the summertime, petals unfolded to catch the sky.

Lace your fingers through the soil and remember that you are love, and you are loved. Nothing more is asked of you but to live. And so you will until time wears thin, and the next thing comes to greet you.