The wind outside is tempestuous. It is blustery, it is turbulent, it is unbridled. It requires pouring over a thesaurus to find all of the appropriately big words. It has been a lot lately.
It is forecast to continue (and continue and continue if human beings keep walking the path we collectively are at the moment - a longer discussion for another day).
And I am not a fan of it.
I have not ever been a fan of strong wind (is anyone?) but as I get older, I feel it even more intensely. An impassioned breeze sets my teeth on edge now, so this wind (and it is so much worse in higher altitudes at the moment) leaves me agitated and frayed.
Can you relate? Is it as simple as not having control? Is it rooted in fear, or in unknowing?
It is as though my very own beingness is also whipped around uncontrollably with the leaves and tree limbs, my mind a whirlpool, my emotional core chaos incarnate. I watch fearfully out the window, afraid for the trees and the birds, often catching myself catastrophizing. In order to get anything done I need noise cancelling ear buds, a strong cup of tea, and iron will. And all of those tools used to cope feel too constrained, too far on the other end of the wild outside. It does not facilitate creative flow, it does not foster painting a composition that I want to embody curiosity and delight.
Breathe.
I know some of this comes from disconnect, from not being so closely aligned to the land anymore. From living under a secure roof where I can shut the “elements” out, where I am clothed and warm and safe year round, where the shoes on my feet keep a constant barrier between me and the soil from which we are grown. I don’t have to work outside for a living. I am privileged and the poorer for it sometimes.
Breathe.
I see my backyard feathered friends take shelter deep in the trees in my yard, close to the trunk, close to the centre, and in paying attention, in really seeing them, I see what I need to do too.
There are times when the world outside catches our hair (and hearts) and whips them around cruelly or carelessly, but we can embody tree energy and bird energy. We can be flexible where needed so that those external or front facing aspects can go with the flow, safe in the knowledge that the trunk, the very core, is resilient, rooted deeply, stoic and grounded and unmoving - but endlessly supportive. And when we need to take shelter, when we need respite, we come back to our trunk, to our core, to the part of us rooted deeply in the ground, in place, in the land. We can sidle along those flailing limbs to where it is safe and strong, and maybe even enjoy the ride, the rocking motion, the movement of the wild breath of our Earth.
Breathe.
And so I open the glass door, then the screen door which has kept the wind and the noise out of my house. I take out my noise cancelling ear buds. I step outside, taken aback initially, those big, flailing feelings close to the surface.
Breathe.
I stand next to the mulberry, near the oak, and look up at my lemon scented gum. She is shedding last year's skin (another big lesson, thank you tree medicine), and she looks a little unkempt, even more so whipped around, but her core is strong. I plant my feet into the grass, taking a strong stance.
Breathe.
I close my eyes.
Breathe.
I imagine my roots extending down into the ground, wrapping lovingly around the roots of eucalyptus and mulberry and oak and maple, shared strength, shared resilience, and I feel the energy rising through the soles of my feet. My eyes are still closed, but I raise my face to the wind coming from the west, hot and dry and filled with desert energy.
Breathe.
I raise my arms. I unfurl, and I feel the breath outside and inside. I move, I sway, I am the wind, I take in her energy so that I can let my own fear and disquiet out. I am dancing wildly, my arms and hands and fingers all moving. I try to move all of my muscles as though they are branches and leaves, and my feet remain planted, my core is strong. I mimic the wind, I move wildly and then gently, I flail and then I sway.
Breathe.
The sun is strong. Indeed, it is the sun that whips up this wild Earth breath, and with the enthusiastic movements I am making and the sun almost directly overhead, I can feel that I too am warming up considerably. There is sweat forming on my brow, and when the wind catches it I am cooled. The synergy of my own ecosystem in reaction to the larger ecosystem that we are all a part of. My arms are beginning to tire now, and I feel full of the big outside energy. My muscles are tired but loosened, particularly my back and neck and shoulders. I am also more grounded, less emotionally unsettled. I stand quietly for a while among the chaos, and thank this beautiful land that I can be a witness and a participant. I open my eyes, and as I do my resident sparrow hawk flies into the yard, mildly startled at the wild haired human standing in her local market (had she come a couple of moments before she would have been even more surprised!). She pivots at the last moment and flies high up into my beautiful big tree, strong feet clasping a flexible branch. Her core is strong, she is as pliable as the limb where she shelters.
Breathe.
And so I came inside and penned this missive, and I know that there are layers of lessons here that I will unpack over time. Today though my learning is expansive but intimate, and I know I can approach the rest of the day with a little more wildness inside to match the wild outside. I can harness some of this big energy in my creativity instead of feeling stifled by the HUGENESS of it. When I am overwhelmed or feel out of control or out of my depth as I work (hello perfectionist teaching herself oil painting) I can come back to my core, to the “why” that grounds me deeply. I can breathe, I can come back to the core, back to my trunk, resilient and grounded.
I pick up my paintbrush and begin.
Wild wind, wild heart