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The Journey

by Mary Oliver

 

 

One day you finally knew


what you had to do, and began,


though the voices around you


kept shouting


their bad advice–


though the whole house


began to tremble


and you felt the old tug


at your ankles.


"Mend my life!"


each voice cried.


But you didn’t stop.


You knew what you had to do,


though the wind pried


with its stiff fingers


at the very foundations,


though their melancholy


was terrible.


It was already late


enough, and a wild night,


and the road full of fallen


branches and stones.


But little by little,


as you left their voices behind,


the stars began to burn


through the sheets of clouds,


and there was a new voice


which you slowly


recognized as your own,


that kept you company


as you strode deeper and deeper


into the world,


determined to do


the only thing you could do–


determined to save


the only life you could save.

Reference:

Oliver, M. (1986). The journey. In Dream work. New York: The Atlantic Monthly Press, 38.

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