Not all hurricanes or disasters have names. For the past two years I have set with individuals who have been the victims of tragedies and assaults that, quite frankly, transcend any named disaster. I have watched them stand, cry, shake, doubt, believe, and walk forward.

Not all hurricanes or disasters have names. I have been weathering an unnamed hurricane for several months. I could have been the one sitting in my client’s chair. I have been the one sitting in their chair. I have been in awe of their strength and courage. Others have told me they were in awe of my own. None of us could see the strength and courage. We all were simply doing our best.

The mountains of Colorado are long behind me now. I have moved to Missouri. I am beginning again. Yet again. Like Sisyphus, I keep moving the boulder up the mountain, feel the crest beneath my feet, and the touch of the sun. The rock rolls back down again. I follow and push it up again. Hurricanes always leave the inexhaustible cries of “why?” and “what now?” The questions are hurricane debris. They are not the building blocks of rebuilding. They are not the soles of my size 2 Velcro sneakers that carry me forward. You move through and beyond the debris. I cannot tell you how. I cannot tell you I have. Debris can be stubborn. I am not a hero. Like Five for Fighting “(Superman) It’s Not Easy” song,

“I can’t stand to fly

I’m not that naive

I’m just out to find

The better part of me …

I’m only a man

In a funny red sheet

I’m only a man

Looking for a dream

I’m only a man

In a funny red sheet

And it’s not easy

It’s not easy to be

Me “

I no longer have my mountains. Cows, prairies, Osage Orange trees, swirling autumn leaves in rivers and streams,  rural beauty are now my landscape… and I am in awe of all I see. Yet, the winds continue to roar around me. The rock keeps rolling back down the hill. I follow and hear the whispered grace of this is my home. This is my journey. No doubt.

Even rolling rocks are my gurus.

Not all hurricanes or disasters need names. Winds of grace and surrender negate identity.

Namaste to all

A Missouri hobbit