Back on the Grid

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 by Mary Oliver

Back on the Grid

According to my definition, I’ve been “off the grid” this summer. I’ve rarely interacted on social media, and have even taken a break from my own writing. My social circle has been my family. My exercise has been physical therapy after acquiring a new hip. Forced to slow down, I’ve read, journaled, and taken more naps than when I was in kindergarten. I can’t say that my ingrained sense of productivity hasn’t shot me the judgmental look that stirs up guilt about “wasted time.” I can say that I’m learning the value of rest and the insignificance of guilt.

If I were to choose the one word in the poem above that resonates the most with me it would be “meanwhile.” The world keeps going, even if we take a break from it. The sun and the rain do their thing. The wild geese follow the seasons and their own natures. Their examples are both a relief and a challenge. The relief that we are not responsible for anything but ourselves. The challenge that we are the only ones responsible for ourselves. I am reminded of another line of Mary Oliver’s from The Summer Day: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

After my personal season of rest, I sense the nudging of the wild geese calls. Yes, after a break those calls can feel “harsh.” Still, I don’t want to miss them and my "one wild and precious life." I want to find my way back to the writing, imagining, and creating. September marks the new year, anyway, doesn’t it? I’m hoping between this figurative new year and the calendar new year, I will finish that draft for the next novel. (It makes me nervous to put that in writing!) 😳

In this season of wild geese calls, fresh notebooks, football, and changing colors, let us pay attention. When the world offers us its imagination, I hope we take it. When energy surrounds us in the gusto of Fall, I hope we are invigorated by it. May we all find our place in “the family of things.”

Be well,
JB