Living in the North East of Scotland, and two miles from Loch Skene, migrating geese are a familiar sight, and sound. I've mentioned those far travelled chevrons before on this blog, but they are such a reminder of life's adventure that it's hard to resist another mention, and another excuse to post Mary Oliver's poem. I have so many reasons for returning to this poem, like a migrating heart finding again a voice that tells the truth of things, teaching us to care for ourselves, reminding of the call that takes us beyond safe horizons.
Alongside Oliver's poem there is the beautiful symbol of the wild goose in the Celtic tradition, the symbol of the Holy Spirit, wild, free, ubiquitous, on the move, gregarious, the surprising ad hoc-ness of the presence of God.
The photo isn't mine and I haven't been able to trace it to acknowledge it – but it is a beauty, and thank you to whoever took it!
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 your 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.
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