In the family of things

Okay, Imma just say it out loud: I am so lazy that I bought a second yoga strap so I don’t have to go downstairs every morning to practice the standing Vishnu’s couch pose.

I mean—I love yoga; it’s been one of the things that’s got me through the pandemic thus far (what—you think it’s done with us?); I always feel better after my Friday afternoon lesson. But I’m lazy. (I don’t know how “lazy” is compatible with the practice, but here I am.)

The intentionality of yoga is a bit of a challenge, I admit. It’s counterintuitive for me to stand still for any amount of time. This is particularly clear to me when I’m doing an actual standing pose—the ones on the mat grab my full attention. But every morning while standing in the tree pose for 30-45 seconds, I feel like I should be using the time more productively—like also brushing my teeth or filing my nails or something. Pretty sure that’s not the point of that pose, tho.

Well, anyhow, today’s entry for National Poetry Month is from Mary Oliver, a yoga practitioner herself. It’s something appropriate for savasana—final relaxation, when you’re moving back from the yoga time to real-world time, but refreshed and invigorated and ready to start anew.

Wild Geese

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.