Breathe Me, Wind!

Write what you’ll miss when you die.

April 6 prompt, “A Writer’s Book of Days”

The wind.

“Reeeeally?!” she exclaimed. She being a healer with whom I work when, just the other day, I mentioned — on a excessively windy day — how I looooove the wind!

“Reaaaallly?!” Her surprise saturated her voice and look on her face.

She’s no fan of the wind and apparently is not alone.

One of the joys for me of living amid the high and low deserts and mountains of Arizona is the wind.

Coincidently, we’re due for a particularly windy week, say the weather forecasters. The lion’s roar of spring. Good news for me! And the lion. šŸ™‚

Ain’t easy to articulate exactly what about the wind so energizes me.

Uplifts me. Relaxes me. Cleanses and comforts me. Liberates me from the mortal chains and circles of worries.

Wind is both He and She and yet Neither. It can go either way depending on the day. Wind is androgynous.

Wind is the maestro of the world.

By her invisible hand holding an invisible wand, she conducts the swaying of tree limbs and the bending of branches.

She directs tender stems of tulips to arch and petals to launch from their green bases.

She commands puffy seeds of dandelions to scatter and ride the reckless roller coaster of invisible currents to destination unknown!

Wind shoves hats off our heads, pushes hard on our backs or gets in our faces in sweeping playfulness. No harm’s ever meant. Wind does what wind does without malice or intent to hurt.

{Can the same be said about human?}

Wind clears patios of dried fallen leaves, twigs and manmade trash like plastic bags.

Wind lifts particles of dirt, visible only under a microscope, from the hills and deserts and backyards and garden and mountains and deposits them — in crazy randomness — a mile away. Or 10 miles away. Or 20.

There’s no telling where the dirt that’s outside you right this moment came from! Where it’s been or where it’s going! It’s been around all right! As much as a promiscuous whore or a streetwise waif.

Wind is the World on the Go.

I reckon that there nails it for me!

Wind is Movement.

And I am movement.

Movement and mobility are deeply, profoundly inherent in my nature. Ask anyone who really knows me. Ask them where in the world I’ve been. Heck, ask them my address! What town I live in. Or what state — this time!

Gypsy. Rolling stone. Nomad. Wanderer. Restless wanderer. I’ve heard ’em all.

And I am all of those.

Yet in purest and simplest expression, what I am is a traveler. A natural traveler. The way I move through life is unique. My perspectives in life, doubly unique, in part because I AM so adventurous. Unafraid of moving through the world on my own.

Many have commented: “You’re so courageous, always going places where you’ve never been, doing it all on your own.”

My response is: “Nah. It’s who I am and what I do. Fear, to me, is staying put.”

The Wind.

She can never be roped in. Made to stay in one place. Confined. The words alone are the very antithesis of Wind!

I’ve often said that if ever I lose my mobility, if I ever stop moving, I’m dead. My father, bless his soul, was like that as well {though I’ve got the need to move even more intensely … if he was a 6 on a scale of 1-10, 1 being a deadbeat/couch potato, I’m a 9 or 10!}.

Yes, I’ll miss water when I die. Very deeply so. Water’s my element. My home on planet Earth. My nurturer. My mother of Mother Earth. Water is my friend … my healer … my regenerator … my all.

Wind, however, is my Spirit.

Breath. First. Without breath, we do not exist.

Freedom. Uplifter. The Creator who enters the jail and hacks off my chains.

It’s true. One day I won’t be around to hear the music of the wind blowing through the trees … or feel the sand of the beach striking my eyes … or hold tight to a my signature baseball cap on my head.

And while I shall miss the Maestro of the World that is the Wind, there’s something that can’t be forgotten.

When I go, I’ll leave this earthly Wind … and hitch myself onto the Winds of the Cosmos.

As Wind is eternal, so am I. A traveler … in time and space in my Subaru, listening to the wind gushing through the open windows … and outside time and space, rising and falling upon the unseen and unknowable waves of winds of the universe.

Sweet be that song of that Grand Maestro.

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