Skip to content

Pneuma

August 27, 2013

The trail is faint and barely worn.  There is no one else in sight as I trudge up the rise.

I left the main road long ago, its soil packed hard beneath the feet of the crowds of travelers passing there, all pulling carts weighed down with their possessions.  I left my cart at the road’s edge and took only what I could carry, but as I moved down the path I found myself dropping items and leaving them behind.  Funny how they seemed light enough when I first picked them up, but how unbearably cumbersome they became the further I got from the road.

I now carry a cup for scooping water and a small but capable knife looped through my belt, as well as a walking stick.  I don’t remember why I thought I needed anything more.

It feels as if I’ve been walking forever.  The path has become more and more narrow and the markings so light and few that I know it’s rarely traveled.  I can’t tell the last time anyone came through here.  From the look of things, this trail must be ancient.

I reach the top of the rise and enter a clearing, and for the first time since I left the road, I stop walking and stand still, taking in the scenery around me.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, and that is when I feel it:

Wind.

A breeze cools my face and lifts my hair away from my neck.  It is the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life, I’m quite sure.  I breathe it in and as it fills my lungs, the weariness in my bones begins to ebb away and a quiet strength flows into me.  I hadn’t realized just how tired I’d become.

The wind feels so alive that I open my eyes, expecting to actually be able to see it.   I see the leaves on the trees wave at me, but I cannot see the wind.  I see ripples on the surface of a pond, but I cannot see the wind.  A fluffy seed of some sort goes floating by on the breeze.  I can see the seed, but not the wind.

The wind is blowing from my left.  I turn my body into it and stare intently into the breeze.  Where is it coming from?  How far would I have to walk to find its source?

Just then the wind changes direction.  I turn my head again.  How can the wind come from this direction in one moment, and that direction in another moment?  Where exactly does this wind begin?

Another fluffy seed dances by and I turn to watch it tumble through the current of air.  I reach out my hand to catch it, but it lifts beyond my grasp and dances away from me, carried by the invisible breath.  Where is it going?  Wherever the wind is going.  Well…where is the wind going?

Where is the wind going?

I stand and watch the seed until it is long out of sight, the wind whipping my hair around into my face.  How far would I have to walk to find the wind’s destination?  What would I find when I got there?

A sudden gust lifts the branches of the trees along the edge of the clearing.  The wind makes no sound on its own, but the trees cannot be silent when it touches them.  They applaud the passing of each breeze, whistling and twirling with delight.  I lift my arms and find that my sleeves readily join in the dance of the leaves.  I look down and see that even the grass bows and sways in response to its touch.

I begin to cross the clearing.  When I move I can still see the evidence of the passing of the wind, but it is harder to feel it.  I pause.  There it is.  I start and stop my way across the clearing, learning to sense the presence of the wind even when it’s difficult to feel it.

And I think:  it must look as if I’m dancing.

Advertisements
2 Comments leave one →
  1. August 28, 2013 7:15 am

    I will never experience wind the same way ever again.

  2. Joann permalink
    August 28, 2013 7:27 am

    I felt as if I was reading an unknown section of Hinds Feet for High Places. It gave me chills and happiness!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: