A poem for Tuesday

Feeling the fear is part of my momentum in life. And, it's true, I'm suspicious of those who don't admit of anxiety and allow its place in all they do. Still, there are fine lines here. Persistent anxiety can quickly sour small victories. It can transform progress into paralysis. It can also take us away from our present and from those there with us. I think the key is to love the world, and to love oneself as part of it. So that your anxiety becomes a part of something bigger and still beautiful, something shared, rather than a cold and isolating shard of glass.

This is by Mark Strand.

Lines for Winter
Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself—
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.
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