And Thus The Wind Did Speak

So many questions in life. So few answers that make any sense. Problem is, the questions never change. The answers, over time, most always do.

Sometimes I wish I could collect my answers to life’s unrelenting questions and nail them to a wall where I could always see them and they would never change.

So many times, when I examine my beliefs, it’s like watching a sunset. One minute I see a mix of colors, layered, one on top of the other, moving, perhaps curling around themselves. If I close my eyes for thirty seconds, then look again, the sky is different. Colors are a deeper shade,They’ve repositioned themselves to form something sometimes more beautiful than what I saw before I closed my eyes.

My belief about spirits is sort of like that. And to be honest, I’m still trying to figure it out myself. When I’m in a “figuring something out about myself” mood, I often turn to the natural world to guide me. It might be a tree, a plant, a bird, a cricket... anything I can coax into a conversation. The key to this is to look at the world the way they see it.

So, I’m going to let you eavesdrop on one of these talks. This one, however, I did not initiate. Instead, a powerful resident of the natural world approached me.

“So, do you believe spirits really exist?” I was asked.

“Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.” I answered.

“Tell me more.”

“Well, I believe that if I can’t see something or touch it or hold in my hand, then it isn’t real. So, since I’ve never seen or touched or held a spirit in my hand, it must not be real.”

“What about me? Can you see or touch me?”

I had to stop and think. I’d never been privileged to discuss anything with the wind before.

“What about me?” Wind asked again. “Can you see me? Can you hold me in your hand?”

“No. I can’t. I cannot see or touch you. I cannot hold you in my hand.”

“Then are you saying I am not real?”

“Yea –eee—aaa--es,” I said slowly, drawing out the “Yes” into three or four different syllables. “I guess I am.”

“Are you sure?” Wind persisted.

“Yes. But No. Not really.” I stammered. “Because I see what you do. You make the leaves on the trees rustle against each other. You make the sheets and blankets dance on a clothesline. You push against the sails on a boat and send it skimming across the water. You have power to delight or destroy. You touch things.”

“Have you ever felt me touch you?” Wind’s voice was soft. Quiet. Gentle.

“Yes, yes I have. And when you do, something changes for me. I might find strength I didn’t know I had if you are trying to knock me down. Or maybe you whisk away my fears or you might advise me to pay attention to them. You’ve also sent things tumbling my way that I didn’t expect.”

“Then, perhaps I am real.”

“Perhaps you are.”

And I understood. I cannot touch a spirit. I cannot see it or hold it in my hand. But a spirit can touch me.

And when it does, things happen.