the life of zooey who happens to be Bipolar 2
It’s serious serendipity that I listened to, “My Favorite Things,” last night and wrote about it. The song has the lyric, ‘Wild geese the fly with the moon on their wing’. Today, I opened a window and a flock flew overhead, honking away.
Wild geese can be a crazy nuisance around golf courses, airports and fake corporate ponds. Geese are full of crap, eliminating 1-2 lbs a day. I can attend to the slippery, greasy green surprises on sidewalks. Geese can chase you to your car in the parking lot. Geese can slowly make their way across the road, eyeballing you into halting submission. I mean really, bird, you CAN fly.
Geese need to be with each other in twos, finding their mates around 3 years old. They stay together traveling and raising families of goslings. If one of the twi dies or is killed, the mate will find another. Time will vary on second mates and sometimes they stay single. Pairs are a part of a flock or gaggle which have a fond affections for each other. They use 10 different sounds to communicate, depending on the situation. If a goose is injured, a few geese will stay with it until it can fly again or dies. They take of their posse.
In the fall, I welcome their honking above my head as they fly in a V-formation. I smile at this positive reminder of community during migration which can be 1-3000 miles. Their V shape allows them to fly over 70% farther. They trade lead in headwinds. They honk encouragement to others to keep up speed. Their honking reminds me of their teamwork, dependence and community. It also brings to mind the poem by Mary Oliver.
by Mary Oliver
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.
We are human. We all have pain we can share and understand in others. We love who we love. We have our places to call home. We are wild.
A reminder of our humanity flying overhead.