Wild Geese

“Print it out. Frame it by your bedside. Read daily.”

“How many of us need the line "You do not have to be good"?”

“Open your arms like you’re spreading your wings and say to yourself “my life is getting bigger.” Then move your hands to about an inch or so apart and mutter “that story will feel smaller.” Then turn your palms away from you and push the one inch story away/down to help it move along. Alternate with reading Wild Geese by Mary Oliver and repeat as necessary.”

“I first read this poem framed in the waiting room of the counseling center at my university in 2007. It took everything in me to walk through those doors and ask for help. Week after week, I’d read the poem to the point of memorization. I still go to therapy as a 37 year old and I still reference this poem as permission to just be part of the world.”

“"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."”

“Whenever I'm feeling down, the ghost of Mary Oliver will visit and read aloud her poem Wild Geese. It will remind me that I belong. We all do!”

“This is the first one. The one we recite at bedtime”

“Contemporary art needs poetry. I love to sit by the river and watch the wild geese fly by. I am inspired as an individual and artist by the geese and the words of Mary Oliver.”

“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.”