When I was a little girl, my mother would dramatically whisper a poem to us on windy days that simultaneously freaked me out and soothed me.  In reflection, I am not sure if it was the way she would dramatically recite it, the way the winds were blowing around us that prompted the poem, or the words to the poem itself.

Recently, I received a card from a dear friend during a particularly emotional experience.  The card* was simple and to the point.  The cover showed the back of a young girl whose pony tails were being blown about and it read:  “When the winds of change feel too strong….”  I immediately thought of the other poem and felt, again, simultaneously freaked out and soothed.  Yes, life brings many changes.   And sometimes I feel like I am being whipped about, blown in every direction.   Realizing that, for the most part, the change is phenomenally good, there still exists those few things, those sticky points that make me question it all, that I resist, that make me want to fight the change.

I realize now that I need to lean into the wind, to stop resisting it.  It is strong enough that it will hold me for a bit, but as it subsides, I will have to catch myself, lest I fall to the ground.  And at this point, landing on my ass and dealing with the resultant scrapes and bruises seems far less painful that trying to control or stop the wind that blows about me.   By leaning into it, I can feel it’s power, it’s strength.  The strong gusts take my breath away and I often feel as though that particular wind may be the end of me.  But then it cradles me once again, calming me down.  And the cycle continues.  Strong bursts and gusts of wind force me off balance, bringing me to my knees, followed by gentle caressing breezes that soothe, almost heal.

I am riding the winds of change, honoring and yes, often resisting each swell, but grateful for each settling, gentle breeze.  Finally realizing I have no control over the wind, I now know that I can only control how I choose to react to it, how I fight it or ride it, resist it or lean into it – like the trees in the poem my mom used to recite:

“Who has seen the wind?  Neither you nor I.  But when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.”**

*card ©Elain Duigenan/Photonica
**excerpt from the poem, Who Has Seen The Wind, by Christina Rossetti