zephyr
Leaning into the wind with my bodyweight of eleven years, I was determined to keep moving forward, one small step at a time. The faraway horizon beckoned like the moon to the sea… while the wind, the relentless wind streamed into this wide and wild valley between snow-covered mountain tops. Steeped in the Himalayas somewhere, I knew, I just knew that if I persisted, that if I listened long and hard enough, I would be able to understand the elusive language of the wind. Something of its power and age-old wisdom would be revealed to my pounding heart and my little soul. Tibet was seemingly just over there, close enough to touch. I would keep walking the path forward, I would keep listening, and someday, surely someday, I would understand wind.
Twenty years later, a fire dance ceremony, Navajo Nation:
We are huddled in the black night, with blankets wrapped snugly around shoulders for warmth. Wind blows cold across my face, then warm smoke and sparks from the burning logs. I have lost track of time as i watch the dancers with as much alertness as possible in the long night, trying to remember patterns, movements, dancers and dresses. Standing next to me is one of the young Diné dancers i have met and talked to not long ago. He is kind, checking to see if i am warm enough. Then he asks if i have noticed the wind. Yes, i reply i have felt that it is cold. But, he inquires, have i noticed how it travels? How it has come from the east, then from the south, west, and finally north? How it has traveled through the long night of dancing? My heart shifts as he so suddenly and so simply shares with me poetry of which i had been illiterate just moments before. And the poetry is in his telling as much as in the traveling of wind. It is softness, a certain warm glow of speaking that belies true love for the poetry of wind. Kinship, and a softness of the heart.
Wind, I would come to realize, is consciousness—the one mind of mother earth in constant motion. Wind connects us all. If we still and settle into our hearts, patiently, we will understand that wind is a beautiful mind moving through us. Our very breath. Life force. Love. And dance, I would come to realize, animates the wind. Like trees, we breathe and are being breathed.
So when all else fails, dance. At the edge of the world and after apocalypse, dance.
zephyr
you are the soft light of pink day
and, you are the song of the sky
in which i, although splintered
still fly
and, still dance
in all my midnight dreams, scattered and sweet
Michiru Adrienne 