You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles in 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 about mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of rain are moving across landscapes, over the prairie and 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 and calls to you like wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over again announcing your place in the family of things.
Mary Oliver
Wild Geese