Mary Oliver writes poetry. Lots of it. I don't get it all. Some of it seems to be the verbal equivalent of beautiful nature paintings. But when I do get it, it resonates. Deeply. So here's one of those:
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
Seemingly paradoxical idea for a psychotherapist, no? We can really only help ourselves??
Reminds me of some words I've heard attributed to the Chofetz Chaim (likely attributed to others as well). He said, "In the beginning I thought I can save the world. Then I saw this was impossible so I tried to save my community. Then after seeing this wasn't to be, I tried to save my family. In the end, I saw I can only save myself."
I believe that all our training and practice boils down more to how we can be there with others and for others, much more than how we can fix others. At best, we show people how they can show up for themselves..
When we do this, therapy is at its finest.