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Today, I was thinking about the last line of Mary Oliver’s poem Wild Geese.

"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."

This poetry nourishes my soul; it is a poignant wake-up call. This feeling of loneliness seems to be a companion of depression. Yet that primal call, like the call of the wild geese or the lone loon beckons the heart to open up. It invites a coming home yet knowing that we’ve never left home. Where we are, it is. This home is not a place, it is spaciousness, it is presence. It is that from which all things arise and all things dissolve.

Sitting still; being alone, where we are home, in the family of things.