It's Funny How The Wind Blows

There I was, sitting at The Pumpernickel, a cute and charming cafe nestled in the heart of Saugatuck, MI. 

It was a cool and crisp fall morning. It wasn’t too chilly, so I sat outside. It was a picturesque fall Michigan morning in a picturesque Michigan town. There I sat at the table, getting all my things just right, “setting my stage,” if you will. Placing my coffee cup exactly where I wanted it, getting my napkin placed and folded exactly how I wanted, making sure the creases were even and the corners matched. Making sure the table wasn’t wobbly so I wouldn't be annoyed placing my coffee on the table. Placing my journal and pen how I wanted, basically making sure the lines of each object were parallel to one another. Wiggling in my chair until it was just right. Paying attention to all of my OCDs so I can settle-in properly.

Then I sat and allowed myself to arrive at the place I was at. 

One thing that stands out about Michigan, especially Michigan in the fall, are the leaves. God, so many leaves, and beautiful too. And they were blowing, the morning breeze was just enough to cause the leaves to swirl.

There I sat, arriving. My eyes wandering, roaming the realities around me, allowing myself a brief time to be distracted and just take note of the stuff around me. The sights, the sounds, the scents (if any), taking note of any observations of the sensations I was feeling.

I sat some more. I was distracted. I was trying to pull my attention to my journal and to myself, but I was having trouble. I couldn’t take my eyes off the swirling chaos of leaves blowing in front of me. I couldn’t pull my attention off the blowing euphony of wind and leaves, that beautiful rustling sound of wind blowing through the trees and the crackling of dried crunchy leaves against pavement, asphalt and other dried leaves. I was mesmerized. The swirling and blending of fall colors, the gentle breeze across the surface of my skin. It was a beautiful moment.

My eyes transfixed in a softened gaze off into nowhere. 

I heard this question arise within me, “Mike, what do you see?”

I, like a hardened neanderthal creature, was like, “Uhhh, nothing. Leaves. I’m looking at leaves.” 

Back to my journal. I tried. I sat there blank. I didn’t know what was going on. Usually I have something by now. I am usually able to pull my attention to myself and go below the surface. What’s going on within me? What is really going on? What am I feeling? Where are things rooted? But this morning, I wasn’t able to move past my physical surroundings. There is this movement that occurs, that I have found, a rhythm, if you will, that goes something like this: Outer> Inner > Innermost. I came in, arrived where I wanted to be, I set my stage, taking care of all my little whatnots, I settled into my body, settled into my space, I allowed myself to pay attention to the little wanderings of my mind, saying “hello” to them but not allowing those things to stay too long. I pulled my attention to my breath, swelling my chest with every inhale and being mindful of the collapse that came with every exhale and letting go of any tension as I felt my shoulders drop, appreciating the sensations of the breeze against my skin, the warm swirl and taste of coffee in my mouth, holding space for the natural beauty that surrounded me, appreciating how fortunate I was to be exactly where I was. But that was it. I couldn’t move past that.

So I revisited that question, “What do I see?” I had to, because I said hello and noticed everything else, but not that one thing, I pushed it away. I didn’t say hello to it, I didn’t welcome it. So now I had to come back to it, I tried not to, but I knew deep down that I had too. 

“Okay, Mike, what do I see?” I asked myself. I felt like I was supposed to see something, but I was clueless. “Am I missing something special, I wondered?” Like, is there some great spiritual mystery hidden, because all I see are leaves, bruh. But I didn’t give up. I needed to trust myself. I needed to trust my intuitions and especially those tiny, whisper-like voices deep down that arise from within, that, at first, make no sense. I needed to trust it was there for a reason, that it came from somewhere even though at first, it seemed silly to me. 

What do I see? I see leaves. Many colors, blowing all around. The wind is moving them up and down and all around, right to left, left to right. There are shapes and patterns, all of it totally unpredictable yet, all of it also looks beautifully orchestrated. There’s no rhythm or rhyme, no particular pattern to which it follows. There’s no form, no function. These leaves are being moved by an invisible force. You can’t see it. Can’t see where it is coming from or where it is going. You can only see it as it happens. It was beautiful. 

After writing out and noting these surface observations, it was then that tiny whisper-like voice replied, “That’s it. That’s how the spirit of the Lord is.”  I sat and chewed on that for a moment. “Yeah, it is. Wow.” I felt like I had seen a revelation. 

The Lord moves about like the wind, up and down and all around. There’s no form, no pattern, no rhythm, no rhyme. There’s no way to predict it. The spirit, like the wind, pays no attention to color. Doesn’t care about geography, or race, or gender, or belief, or spirituality. The wind doesn’t care if you have a lot or have nothing.  You need new eyes to see new things and new ears to hear new things. Haven’t you heard that you can’t pour new wine in old wineskins? The old skins will burst. You need something new to hold something new. I am everywhere. I blow about and no one sees where I am going or where I came from. You only see it as it happens, you feel it the moment the wind breezes over you. You only know it, because you feel it and sometimes you can get to see it. The spirit, like the wind, seems chaotic yet beautifully orchestrated. There’s no way to understand it or capture it, the wind, it blows and blows and blows. It’s funny how the wind blows. 

There are moments that are just pure magic to me.There’s no way to understand them. The circumstances are totally random, yet, somehow, there’s no other way to explain other than “you can’t make certain shit up.” It was perfect, the timing was amazing, the connection, my context, my situation. It’s like it was meant to happen, like it was almost totally orchestrated. There was no way to know that this would happen. You couldn’t, in a million years, predict this. It’s beautiful and amazing and seemed random, out of nowhere. Yeah, that’s “the wind.” You only know it when you feel it.

It’s funny how the wind blows. 

 

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