No. 22

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YOUR wind

EVERYTHING ELSE HAS MY ATTENTION…

So I cannot hear you

When you invite. When you whisper

But if all it took was the taking of everything, the destruction of all things

There would be silence

And the wind would blow

Oh wind, 

If you blow this way, I would follow 

If you blew the other way, I would follow 

Delusion must bow to truth 

And the truth is,

There is wholeness —

a softness that exists and can only be found in the place you were made

This place where the wind blows all of the time and in it, are the most profound whispers and invitations

Ones that make you come undone

So undone, you’ll think you’re broken

But in this place, brokenness is a prerequisite

As I sit in what looks like ruin

The wind blows

It’s the highest Architect

The truest Friend

Inviting me

This time, to a studio

To watch something be created — to watch Him work

The most brilliant Potter

With clay before him, he molds with intention and gentleness

He creates ripples of beauty every place his fingers touch

When he stops to rest, the wind blows again

Asking me what I think of it

I have never seen anything like it. How do I say it’s perfect?

I look around the studio and everything is

All this art — from finished paintings to blank canvases

Extravagant pots and vases to lifeless mounds of clay

It’s all matchless.

I tell him, the potter, that I think it’s beautiful

What he says next, I am not ready to hear

“This is you” he says

“I wish you could learn to appreciate all of creation. You are no exception. You are perfect and beautiful to me”

This leads me to rest

Nothing but silence at the mercy of the wind

Your heart, I hear it

My heart, you keep it 

And I trust you with it 

For who better than to hold it than the one that holds all things together?