Good morning, Prairiewoods family,
The first line of Wild Geese by Mary Oliver came to me on Tuesday evening. “You do not have to be good.” David Whyte, in his Poetry of Self Compassion, shares that the whole poem IS good, but you really only need the first line. “You do not have to be good … You do not have to be good … You do not have to be good!”
I was talking with my parents about this poem, specifically the first line. My Dad, assuming, I think, that if I no longer wanted to be good that I must want the opposite, to be bad. He asked me, how bad do you want to be? I laughed! I hadn’t even considered that question. One could say that we live in a world of polarities, sun and moon, earth and sky, etc., etc. Often our minds take us to a place of duality, so I understand the question and the reasoning behind it. I told my parents, I do not want to be bad, but I DO want to be wild and free. That evening I felt the call to build a fire in my backyard. In the weeks previous, I had been gathering sticks and branches from my spring yard clean-up and placing them in my fire ring. I asked the sticks, the air and my ancestors for assistance, and together, we invited fire in. She seemed eager for the invitation and lit easily. I fed her sticks and affection; in turn she fed me. Her wisdom. Her warmth. Her desire to burn. Her light. Her ability to transmute. Her dance. Eventually I laid down and rested next to her for a while. Later (It was already late enough, and a wild night), I told God that she could go to hell and I didn’t feel bad. I simply realized that sometimes we get angry, even at those we love most of all. Yesterday, my Mom suggested, do one thing every day that makes you feel wild and free. I have learned over the years, it is wise to listen to my Mother. Yes, yes, the irony of not wanting to be good but still listening to my Mother! This morning I danced and danced like fire taught me. If you did not have to be good, what would you be?
Wild Geese
by Mary OliverYou 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 my burning heart to yours,
—Emelia Sautter, Prairiewoods ecospirituality coordinator