Wild Geese by 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 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.

BeHeld

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love

Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love

This Strange Dream

I dreamed I saw you flying

high above a mountain

in a very blue sky.

You rose up on a plume of warmth

then wafted slowly towards the earth.

You landed in a forest by an ancient tree.

I dreamed you sat to wait for me.

I came as light

filtering through the leaves,

falling across your spirit.

Then I became a woman.

My hands became powerful

and I began to gather in the strength of things.

Then you became a woman.

You spread your arms

and crimson flowers spilled from your breasts.

We walked until we found a river.

The river flowed out from you,
to its end,

which was me.

We bathed often and were clean.

I became seed and sun and rain.

You became earth.

And when again we stood upright,

in bodies molded from your own clay,

the river was still there.

But it was swollen and dark

and it carried the corpses of things

we had drowned.

I felt the pain of that.

And I feel the pain even now,

awake so long

from this strange dream

of petals

and mystery

and love.

(February 1987, Wanakena, NY)

A tree first brought me the idea of bodhicitta but I didn't get that word until 9 years later

I once planted a liriodendron tulipifera

that my grandmother brought to me as a sapling.

The deer ate it every year and it got mowed several times

but it still grew tall and straight,

until it was too big to be hurt by those sorts of things anymore.

I want my heart to grow like that,
tall and straight,
so it will no longer close
when it is eaten by loneliness,
jealousy, anger, envy.

The liriodendron tulipifera has beautiful glossy leaves --

like large, beckoning hands.
It has flowers like great bowls of nectar --

an offering to the birds and butterflies and bees.

I want my heart to open like that,
as if with large beckoning hands

that can offer great bowls of nectar to the world.

The lambs are dead by now, I am quite sure

I was earnestly searching for lambs in March of 2009.

I found them not.