I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but my oft-failed practice of sitting outside once a day and grounding myself into the wind and the embrace of the elements, to fall down in a sense of inner and inter connection through the memory of being, seems to have now become something of second-nature. I think it came as a direct response to being faced with so many things at the same time to which I had to surrender fully that I finally found the solace in the surrendering places.

When the wind blows and I am in the night air, I feel right. I feel like it makes sense, like all the anxieties and all the complications are revealed in simplicities. And it's come to the point where when I feel the spin up, all the stories I make up about the future, all the fears born by my mother, I step outside and sit and close my eyes and listen.

I'm being given a handful of things without definition. There's a wedding I am to perform, a long visit from a soul friend, an uncertain (through multiple possibilities) work future, and wrapped around it all, many questions in regards to where I go next and what I do next. I haven't done well in the face of them, wrapped up in thoughts and whirling in to do lists, and coding for the second largest billing month in a row. And underneath, the new phases of grief from Calin, and the fresh loss of a father of somebody dear to me. No, I haven't done well in finding a balance that allows me to have good health and calm sleeps, or a balance that gives my creative time it's fair due.

But I think that's changing. The things I thought I'd once do for myself as part of a practice, I'm coming to as a means of coping, and they are providing me moments of peace. My "spaces" philosophy is working well and about to enter a new phase with more specificity that I think will lead me back to creative writing. But overall, I'm learning that I don't know anything.

I don't know how it's going to be or what I'll do when it is or is not. And that's hard to accept. But the freedom of accepting it is tremendously empowering.

What I like about the wind is that it doesn't ask anything of me and I don't ask anything of it. It comes and goes, builds in predictable ways but always has within it the possibility of complete randomness. Whether that happens or not is immaterial. It's enough that it could change at any moment, enough to make sure one never fully assumes we know its direction.

Living in a city where it is always about to rain, whether it rains or not, I think is very similar.

Applying that to living a life holds within it an infinite dance that I hope one day to fully embrace.