The Restless Wind within

Restless Wind

The wind is blowing outside my window.  I can hear it whistling as the ice covered trees snap back in protest.  Snow is being carried by gusts  before me creating a sensation of cold one can feel  with the eyes. 

I am thankful that I am not out there in it.  I am warm, here in my corner with my housecoat wrapped around me, my old dog at my feet and my cat curled up on  my lap.  We create such a perfect picture of contentment, don't we?  I do not feel so content.

Feeling restless, bored, anxious and confused lately.  My body is acting up but I wonder if it is just to get my attention.  In the bouts of  pelvic and chest pain; in the weakness and fatigue; and in the hormonal onslaught of this transition...lies a message of some kind.

Something is stirring from within like the  wind outside my window...bringing up feelings and thoughts and throwing them in gusts across my psyche.  This internal wind wants to be heard.  Something else within me cracks with resistance but even that is getting weary.  The ice is being knocked to the ground.  I have to listen!

What is it that I am to hear? 

I, and the world maybe, need change, resolution, expression and a certain healing that cannot be obtained by prescription or external intervention. There is something I have to do, in this regard,  but I don't know what that can be.  My body can only do so much these days so I am assuming it is something I have to do with my mind: with my words or my photos?  I think I am to create something...anything new?  I think, maybe, I am to begin another writing project but I don't know what I am to write.  I just know that when I say, "I think I am to write something new,"  I hear this soft sigh of relief going off inside me.

 "Finally...she gets it!"...the wind turns to a whisper of satisfaction.

What am I to write and why? 

For change, resolution, expression and healing.  :)  I am being told possibly...that there is a need for such things and that it comes from all of us...within.  I am being called maybe...to express myself.  My ego chirps up:  Why would you bother writing something new when you have three books out there that do not look like they will get published?  When some do not obviously like what you write? When you won't do the work of  gaining literary acclaim by writing and publishing short stories?

Writing is not about being published...I know that now.  Don't get me wrong I would love to be published extensively but...that is not "why" I write. I write to write...to express, share, help calm the wind that blows inside and outside of me.  I write to heal.  To me; writing ( and photography) are the ultimate expression of self...not the little self we refer to as the "me"  but the big Self that can be referred to as the "we".

I don't know what I need to write.  I mean I have lots of ideas...lots of work started that I could complete...but I am not sure what this particular "calling" is telling me right now. I am going to meditate on that and I will get back to you...just in case you are as curious as I am.  :)

All is well in my windy world.