If my words be true, they would swirl off the page and surround you. If my words be true, they would catch you up like a feather on the storm. If my words be true they would open the sky to reveal the stars dancing across the great dome; they would bring the clouds, and invoke the storm.
My words are only hints. They are almost false; they are at best well-intentioned lies.
My words try to catch the wind, but the wind blows them away.
When the whirlwind speaks, it is not gentle. It confronts. It challenges. It does not distinguish between good and bad, dark and light.
My words are only hints, and bad hints at that. Do not ask me directions; I am most times lost myself. The wirlwind blew the map away.
If my words be true, if the wind could be conjured within this rectangular confine, the letters would dance over the page. They would lose their meaning and change partners. The alpha and omega would do-se-do. The f & the s would do a grapevine step. The r & the y would bow to each other, and waltz.
When the whirlwind speaks, it requires no translation.
I can only make shadow puppets. Mere puppets, to be blown away by the wind.
How shall I catch the wind? It will not be caught. I may struggle with the wind; I may seek to harness it; or I may join it.
Breath in: I welcome the wind to my small walking home. Breath out: I join the wind in its travels.
Breath in: I invite the Spirit to renew me. Breath out: I release all that separates me from the divine.
Breath in: divine light breaks into the wounded places. Breath out: all fear departs.
This I pray in the name of the Eternal One: the Creator, the Companion, the Comforter.
So be it.
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