Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

The Wind

I hate the wind
last night it blew
roaring through the trees
torturing and bending them

pushing them almost to the breaking point
then suddenly releasing them
allowing them exhausted to stagger to their feet

shrieking around sharp corners
like a lament from hell

an invisible power in the dark
it swirled the world into chaos

the woods this morning were different
trash can's missing and scattered
a carpet of branching lining the ground
trees newly stripped of leaves

and still the wind blows
even destruction

and yet
a good wind
cleans as well as litters
it stirs and moves
driving away stale smoke
and stagnation
the wind is fresh
it makes nature dance
much like the Spirit
when it hits our souls
sometimes we would inhibit it
try to control it
but that only makes this worse
better to let it roar and shreek
better to let it toss our inner worlds into chaos
and clear out our souls
and make them dance.

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