The phone is screaming with severe weather alerts. The squirrels eat with heads turning and eyes as vigilant upon the wind as they are upon the seed on the ground. My little dog has taken refuge under the bed. I return to the morning’s clouds filled with wind and yet leaving me breathless. Once again, Rumi’s words dance upon the dervish of the incoming storm…
I start out on this road, call it love or emptiness. I only know what’s not here. Resentment seeds, backscratching greed, worrying about outcome, fear of people. When a bird gets free, it does not go back for remnants left on the bottom of the cage. Close by, I’m rain. Far off, a cloud of fire. I seem restless, but I am deeply at ease. Branches tremble. The roots are still. I am a universe in a handful of dirt, whole when totally demolished. Talk about choices does not apply to me. While intelligence considers options, I am somewhere lost in the wind. ~ Rumi
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