There is a certain kind of rejuvenation that takes place in the soul when all you can hear is the wind blowing hard. It blusters itself in and out making low gravely buzzing sounds that groan and moan and penetrate your senses, your boundaries. It can touch places inside of you where no one goes, not even yourself but you know it's in when you feel something.
The corn stalk sentries stand in rows collecting leaves and debris in their tassels until the wind shakes out their long tangled hair.
This wind, this power leaves me bending, bowing, and yielding. Residue is wiped off and I am left clean with the aftermath of rearranged thinking and transformation.
I obey the power of natural phenomena. I have no choice but to love it. The winds knock me down, the ocean sucks me under, hard rain blinds me, extreme cold freezes me, and lightening threatens me. I can't argue, negotiate, or manipulate this kind of power. I could crawl in a cave and avoid it all but then I would be dead.
I hope to live this life waiting for the wind to take me down as I stand in its way.
We all transform whether we are willing participants or not, with or without love. We will change as we experience. Living, like the wind, shifts and move us and then spits us out for inspection.
I love the wind; I love what I am not in the wind. I am not a profession, a title, a wife, a daughter, a mother, a friend etc. I am the bare bone of me, getting stripped down and forgetting what I think I know. I feel the exhilaration of peace and quiet as my world blows away.
Shadorma Poem version:
Corn tassels
Silken reminders
Tangled now
Wind language
Stripping body trunk smoothly
Rejuvenated
Haiku Poem version:
Corn tassels whip hard
In response to the wind blow
A new day
Copyright 2012 Rozanna Landavazo
