What the Wind knows

What the Wind Knows

I've been stewing in the depths of thought, process and disbelief. Stirring, attempting, but something in me keeps shifting direction, the way wind does when it can't quite decide where it's going. I've been moving without moving. Feeling everything and nothing at once. There is a kind of wisdom in that, I think, what the wind knows that we don't. That stillness and motion can exist in the same breath. That you don't always need to know where you're headed to feel that something is carrying you.

Life has felt strange, echoing with uncertainty. I find myself reaching for a deeper purpose, another layer of discovering. A simmering beneath me that doesn't quite have words or sense. A shifting of energy, collectively, and so internally.

The stillness is not always pleasant. In fact, it has shattered me. Reopened me in a way I don't quite recognize or have friended yet. The earth beneath has, more often than not, felt unstable. And part of that is pressing up against what life is supposed to look like, the version the world decided on without asking me. At my age there are timelines, checkboxes, a quiet but persistent comparison that creeps in. The milestones others seem to move through with certainty. I have looked at my life and felt the gap between where I am and where I'm told I should be, and that gap has not always been easy to sit with. But maybe that is the purpose. Not a destination I'm behind on, but the unraveling itself. The not knowing. The becoming we are all longing to be, Maybe this strange, slower, unrecognizable path, maybe this is exactly it.

I look out at the world and I don't look away, the suffering is real, the injustice is real. People are losing their lives, their homes, their dignity, and I hold that. What I'm wary of is the machine that wraps it all up and serves it to us in a feed, between advertisements and algorithms designed to keep us in a state of outrage or helplessness. A machine we are learning to not leave our bodies, and forget to look up at the trees. It flattens the depth of what is actually happening into content. And that gap, between the truth of human suffering and the way it's packaged for consumption, that's where I lose my footing. Our nervous systems were simply not built to carry it this way. This kind of grief. Or should I say, greed.

So I've been learning to step back from the screen without stepping back from the world. Because life is still living out there. In the conversation across a table, in the stranger who holds a door, in the way light falls differently in the afternoon. The world is not only what the feed tells us it is, it is also this. Small, breathing, continued.

One thing has become sure: BE with people that believe. People who hold an underlying faith in humanity over the scroll. We know now that a screen isn't enough to save a soul that's dying unjustly. And we can see how easy going silent becomes, because sometimes it is just too painful to breathe.

But we breathe anyway. If we don’t have a daily practice over our screens, how are we even functioning?! Perhaps surviving, desperately has become the new norm.

And lastly find the ones who still want to play. Who dance in the rain. Who will walk with you into a misty morning without needing a reason. The poets and the mystics, the ones who howl at the moon without apology, who gather around fires and mean it, who move their bodies,

who tell stories like they are sacred, because they are. The ones who will look you in the eyes and actually stay there. Those people exist. Find them. Hold them close. They are the evidence that the world is still worth believing in.

And maybe that is enough. The wind doesn't know where it's going either. It just keeps moving. Subtle. still. polarizing, or blowing us sideways on all our beliefs. To trust, it will pass, it will settle.