Watching and Feeling the Wind Dance

“I watched the spinning stars, grateful, sad and proud, as only a man who has outlived his destiny and realizes he might yet forge himself another, can be.” ~ Roger Zelazny

“The Portuguese call it saudade: a longing for something so indefinite as to be indefinable. Love affairs, miseries of life, the way things were, people already dead, those who left and the ocean that tossed them on the shores of a different land — all things born of the soul that can only be felt.” ~ Anthony De Sa

“It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are still alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them.” ~ George Elliot

A northeast canyon wind blows, hard, unrelenting – yes, hard, fierce enough to make even the ravens look unsteady in their flight. The ravens are among the best up there on the wind. The wind is pushing through, down through Pueblo Canyon out on the Rez. If I didn’t have to go out today, I wouldn’t go. But it is massage day; always needed, always welcomed, where I am always ripe with gratitude. Lucky me. So there ya have it – the trees must dance on a day like this. The forecast is for 25-35 mph winds, gusting over 40 on occasion. That is already achieved. Things look crazy and chaotic outside my window. No wonder, gale warnings should be posted.That commotion matches some portion of my mind. That portion is where trauma, depression, and hypomania, dance a dance. So do I, hopping around side to side, like a racquetball player, constantly and somewhat urgently shuffling into the optimum position, to keep the game going, to maybe bring peace to the place where the fires of anxiety incessantly burn, and that for which I yearn, a place where I can catch my breath on the way to calming my soul beckons, with curled finger pointed toward the morning sky. It seems like only last week that I was thinking about writing a book about dealing with trauma and depression. That idea kinda floated away to some degree. And then my nurse practitioner said that I should be a therapist. Silly woman. That’s not why I was there, but a yearly checkup includes mental health as well, by necessity. I had told her how I cope with the struggle because she said that my score on the little survey they give you at the beginning of the examination was a matter of concern. The depression has been a matter of concern, for me, since sometime last fall. Yet I remind myself that at any given time, there are some 300,000,000 people who suffer from depression. Depression is the leading cause of disability worldwide so I am not alone in this challenge. But I have no desire to be a one on one therapist, and, dag nab it, I could write a book, a slim volume, to share what I know, have learned about, and have forged into viable tools for survival. So now two out of my three of my medical professionals have gently coaxed the idea of writing a book into my conscious awareness. So now I gotta deal with it, this potential book. Sigh. I think I’ll go out into the wind for a few minutes, then groom and shower, to look and feel presentable for my massage at 10:15. I’ll bring up the potential book so that she has not a chance of slipping it in unannounced. Yeh, I’ll think about it; I mean, there was a synchronicity involved. One should approach the meaning of a synchronicity openly. That’s the part that always flushes me with trepidation. Time to go watch and feel the wind dance. Bueno bye.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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