With my Moon in Taurus and my Sun in watery Pisces, my physical environment is important to me. Having everything “just so” in my garden, home, office lets me deal with all of the madness that is my career, my place in a world in the throes of Tower Time, my over-committed personal life.
And so it is probably fitting, here as I wind up this Saturn Return, that my kitchen is gutted for a remodeling project, every other room in my house is full of kitchen stuff (oven in the living room, refrigerator in the dining room, boxes of wine glasses and dishes in the ritual room, dishwasher and wine captain on the porch . . . .) and the movers are packing up the art in my office for a move across the street, bubble-wrapping around me as I work on three pleadings at once and keep another one on ice.
All day, I kept remembering the words from Mary Oliver’s poem: 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 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.
Driving home from dinner with family and friends this evening, I had to pull over to the side of the road to watch a V-shaped wedge of geese head south in front of the waxing half-Moon. Over and over announcing my place in the family of things.
May it be so for you.
Picture found here.