Sometimes I wonder about the feelings that have no names, at least not that I can think of in English.  I suppose I could call this one I have today ‘the very windy day’ feeling.  Maybe the wind does bring feelings with it sometimes.

I remember this feeling even from my childhood.  Of course back then, it wasn’t just wind that brought it.  Being on the mountain side when the clouds were coming in low and piling up against the mountains at the end of the valley so that in moments I would be enveloped in fog so thick I couldn’t see the house when I was outside brought a very similar feeling.

Is this a sort of Oz-onian feeling as in being picked up by a gargantuan wind that rips one from all that’s familiar and sends you flying into a foreign world in another time and place?

Does this wind carry feelings from all of us from all around the world?  Does it bring with it a nameless kind of longing — for what?  For nothing that is – or can be – known?

I used to call this feeling my ‘wild’ feeling.  It used to come to me often when there was no wind at all on the outside of me — but oh boy!  There was this wind on the inside of me, making me feel huge inside – and empty – and alone.

Is this a wind that those upon sailing vessels in the middle of some vast unknown ocean used to pray for?

Is this a wind that promises change – some kind of change – change that is unknown because it is not here yet?

Howling wind, howling like the wolves did around us on the Alaskan mountain.  Howling like Banshees.  Howling like souls of the lost.  Howling that always carries some question, a question that is by itself voiceless, soundless, silent without the wind to carry it around like a bit of seed fluff nobody notices unless it lands on you or me.

Howling wind with echoes of heart aches for those we long for and miss, those we love forever, those who are not with us in the present moment in body with their smiles, their voice, their touch, their shadow that walks around with them – where we can see it.

Wind that crosses prairies, howls across wide open spaces, fills nooks and crannies with soil robbed from one place and carried vast distances to someplace else.

Wind that sends all but the strongest birds into hiding places among branches of trees until it is quiet again.  Wind that swallows shouts.

Wind that threatens to expose our secrets and the greatest mysteries of life.

These winds that remind of what is forgotten most of the time, remind of what is coming, of things that animals know like the coming of earthquakes, the coming of Tsunamis, the coming of the future and the leaving of the present into the past — where the past does not stay — because the wind knows where the past is — as it brings it swirling again around us on these days, these very windy days, in memories carried within feelings we cannot name.


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I am reminded of —

MY MOTHER’S DREAM – March 29, 1960
The whole family was out walking and suddenly we looked up to see a dark rainbow appear – then it got bright and behind it a skyline appeared outlining massive dormed buildings such as I’ve never seen and skyscraper bldgs – then it all disappeared and a big wind came.

We realized it was a hurricane. We could hardly stand up against the wind. We saw big apt bldgs on the sides of the streets but the entrances faced another street and we were on the wrong side. The wind grew stronger – finally a door appeared and we went in the bldg and the person asked us what was wrong? We told her of the great wind but as we pointed outside – all was silent and the wind was gone … and I awoke.


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