Soft Animal

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.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver

published by Atlantic Monthly Press

© Mary Oliver

This morning I awoke with a roiling belly and a closed fist of a heart. As I lay in the quiet of dawn, I asked this warm, breathing creature that is me, “What do you need?” The answer came back softly, but clearly and strong, “To be held, to be touched.”

Heading out with my dogs on our morning walk, I reflected on how only two nights ago I shared dinner at a round table with a group of beloved friends. Between two men I love dearly, each of whom offered shoulders for my head and warm arms around my back, I was keenly aware of the heightened sensitivity of my mending heart, and how it was almost painful to be touched. It seemed if I allowed myself to sink into that warmth, I could fall so completely apart that I might get lost forever.

Continuing on our walk along a dirt path embraced by plants and trees and the harbor, I thought of the mimosa pudica (sensitive plant), whose leaves fold inward and droop when touched. The Chinese name for this plant translates to “shyness grass”. I wondered how it can be that what the soft animal of my body most wants is what I can most resist… sending me into old patterns of shyness, which have often been mistaken for a certain aloofness, causing distance in my life and a misbegotten feeling of being utterly alone.

It was a cool morning with a crisp breeze that felt like it swept through my body, rather than softly caressing my skin. This wind seemed to literally brush away the sadness and breathe new life into my heart. As we neared the end of our path, I kneeled on the earth, letting remaining fear and sadness drop into her and be carried away by the lapping water of the bay. Heading home, I noticed the blossoms of ice plant in contraction, patiently waiting for the warm sun to kiss them open to their lusty, fuchsia fullness. From shyness to the certain promise of full bloom, all in the span of a morning’s walk!

This evening, I repeated the ritual. And looking back on the day with a full heart, I can see how each and every moment I was held and so often touched. Through connection with people I love, their words and their prayers. Through music and art and good work. And yes, through this beautiful world, who offers herself up to us, receives us, holds us, and reminds us of our place of belonging in the family of things.