The restless wind

In a land far away, in a time far away, there was once a troubled wind.

It comes with the nature of being a wind to rarely pause and take a break. Winds are meant to unquestionably move along with any impulse that seems fit. They push and break, caress and halt, trick and fool, support and destroy. So why this particular wind felt troubled, was somewhat vague to anyone trying to understand. 

And it was exactly in that fact, that everyone tried to understand, instead of listening, that the troubles laid. Because what most miss, is that winds are hard to catch, hard to hold and hard to study. Yet they have beautiful voices and if someone would listen carefully, winds have long and magical stories to tell. When they sweep over landscapes they catch tales from far and beyond, they listen to grief and stress, love and caress, joy and instantaneous life, birds and stones, me and you. 

Actually, before we move on we need to clarify why listening to someone differs from understanding them. In life, we rarely fully understand anything, although many of us believe we do. The complexity of life, of wonders and of living things, is so vast that to unquestionably voice that we have understood any of it all, would be to deceive not only ourselves, but everything. 

To listen though, requires very little understanding. Instead it asks from the ears to concentrate and to generously absorb. Then the ears will pass the vibration on to the complexity of anatomy and somehow transport the oscillation onwards, through nerves and things into the main machine, the brain, where the listener will hopefully be moved. The convivial reality is that the sender of the sound will not be fully understood, and the listener will not fully understand. They meet half way, in some sort of unconscious circumstance of sender and receiver, of a partially understood existence. More or less. Better or worse. But never entirely. 

This was important for you to know, before the story moves on. But now, let’s again look at this troubled wind. Because what both spectators and the wind itself viewed as troubleness, was possibly, in fact, marvelous freedom. The wind followed no rules, moved through existence with an air of independence. She chose left or right, up or down, fast or slow, embraceful or with a destructive force. All was possible. And in that thought laid the trouble. The feeling this little wind could not shake off. To be uncommonly free, in a world of frameworks and fixed systems, can be burdensome. To feel lonely is burdensome. 

And then. (It’s such a wonderful feeling to be able to write a story with a happy ending). Then, one day, the wind completely and unexpectedly, crashed into another wind with the exact same freedom. The exact same troubles. And the exact same existence. They spent a full day lifting birds into the sky, they softly stroke the cheek of a man in grief, they blew some wonderful puffs into the sails of a fishing boat and they watched the sunset while in stillness, as slow as a wind can move, they drew beautiful patterns on the pink mirrored ocean surface. 

So what is the moral of this story, you wonder? Well, perhaps there is none. Or at least none beyond the fact that love is a wonderful thing. When storms pass, and troubles seem to be filling our days. When loneliness is present and you keep sadness in your pocket. Then let love rule your life! Follow it, fly with its freedom, joyfully accept the warmth it brings. And maybe, if you’re one of the troubled ones. One where love is unrequited. Or lost. Or hidden. Maybe for you, love is something to hold tightly. Because in the freedom of love comes millions of openings, secret doors to be opened and a worthwhile essence. A wondrous life.