Wednesday, June 06, 2012


The Journey

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. 
 Mary Oliver 


Julia said...

Just found this blog and love this poem. I'm 41 years old, and I'm a recovered bulimic and mom of 2, having been in recovery now for about 9 years. I'm also a cutter but not sure how I'd gauge recovery (or not). I just completed the first diet of my life, always afraid to even approach dieting because of my history. I did WW, and am still on it. I love the way I feel, and I look great and am eating healthy, but I wonder always if I'm dipping my toe back into some unhealthy waters. It's hard to know where the line is between "good" and "bad" when you're in the middle somewhere.

Thanks for the blog!

Maya said...

I adore this poem.
In my case it is nothing to do with eating or food, but, it moves me in other ways.
Thank you.