You do not have to be good.

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. 

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 

the world offers itself to your imagination... 

Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

I totally. totally love this.  


You.do.not.have.to.be.good.  You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.  


There is such relief in that.  Such freedom.  


Today is Ash Wednesday.  I spent the better part of my evening with ashes on my hand, wondering exactly what this day means.  


I still don't quite know.  


Tim and God and I have our hard talks in the car.  And tonight, I cried in the driveway. 


Ugh.  


Right now, God.is.quiet.  


And that's ok.  


really. it is.  


. . . ? 


He is quiet and I am feeling very not-sure-there's-really-a-plan-ish.  


But I am finished walking on my knees through the desert.  


We do not have to be good.  


We only have to love what we love.  


Love and more love, 
H. 

I am The Evening Paper Floating Down an Alley

About a post and 1/2 ago (a 1/2?) I said I wanted to share with you a poem and then I got...sidetracked, to say the least.  Here it is.  I suppose it is meant to be a little "tongue and cheek." You know, the way we are always comparing our loved ones to "things."  But at the end of the day, I think it's truly beautiful.  

Photo by askinimages, flickr

Litany

You are the bread and the knife, 

The crystal goblet and the wine... 

-Jacques Crickillon 

You are the bread and the knife, 

the crystal goblet and the wine. 

You are the dew on the morning grass 

and the burning wheel of the sun. 

You are the white apron of the baker, 

and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. 

However, you are not the wind in the orchard, 

the plums on the counter, 

or the house of cards. 

And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. 

There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air. 

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, 

maybe even the pigeon on the general's head, 

but you are not even close 

to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. 

And a quick look in the mirror will show 

that you are neither the boots in the corner 

nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. 

It might interest you to know, 

speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, 

that I am the sound of rain on the roof. 

I also happen to be the shooting star, 

the evening paper blowing down an alley 

and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. 

I am also the moon in the trees 

and the blind woman's tea cup. 

But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife. 

You are still the bread and the knife. 

You will always be the bread and the knife, 

not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine. 

Billy Collins