As I write this, the power is out. (Oh, the joys of modern technology and batteries.) The wind has been whistling, roaring, in fits and starts all night. I can never sleep on nights like these. I may have a touch too much caffeine in my bloodstream this morning contributing to the jitters, but weather like this always brings my whole being to a vibration level aligned to the storm.
Perched at the top of the mountain, wind storms rage here, violently throwing branches (and occasionally things like grill covers and benches) about like autumn leaves. Huge gusts barrel up the mountain, channeled right to the face of our house—the unanticipated side effect of clearing the view.
For the past five years, we lived in a deer camp. Rustic is too romantic a word to describe the corrugated metal shack that held us for those years. There, these storms would nearly lift the walls and roof. Gusts would stir ancient dust and debris from floors, sending me into wheezing allergic fits. Our new house is much sturdier, and the concrete floors yield no toxic dust. But the power of this energy is no less impressive from this vantage point.
What always simultaneously frightens and impresses me is how the amount of kinetic energy in the atmosphere somehow impacts my inner ecosystem. These gusts are experienced through sight, sound, and vibration. I never sleep well. It’s no wonder; I’m sure there’s a part of this that is adrenaline-fueled self-preservation.
But it feels like something more. I feel connected to all of it. I am not separate from anything on this earth. But the clear transfer of energy from the wind into the core of my being reminds me on a visceral level of the energy we share. Our sun brings energy and life to our little blue-green planet. It drives photosynthesis to grow the food we eat, that in turn becomes the fuel we spend to live. It drives the rains and the winds. Energy moves in circles all around us, through us. Come on, let’s dance.