Sweet Darkness by David Whyte
When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.
no part of the world can find you.
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
you are not beyond love.
further than you can see.
the world was made to be free in.
except the one to which you belong.
confinement of your aloneness
that does not bring you alive
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.
Your body will have the final say.
But don’t fear—
the pining is nothing more
than a biological imperative
to be touched
You grow weary
of the multitude
of life lessons
whose similarities never fail to amaze.
leave you powerless
and mix with
You hold tight to hope,
fearing letting go will make you
a haggard used-to-be.
What you don’t know
is hope can make you soft,
tender to the touch
vulnerable to harm
where a gentle thrust
can go in deep,
from the inside-