A story about recognising our own beauty and power.
The Wind
The wind twirled the leaf through the sky, she floated the leaf high and low, and then gently laid her on the ground in a finale.
The wind fancied herself a bit of a dancer. She loved nothing more than to maraca through trees-tops or to tap dance across blades of grass. The wind moved at will, at times wildly with unrestrained passion, at others ever so softly with delicate grace. The wind danced to an ancient rhythm strung to her through a portal of time.
For eons, the wind delighted at her many and varied dancing partners. She thrilled at seeing how they changed their landscape to accompany her.
I wonder what I look like. I want to see myself dance, she decided.
The wind dropped down to where the river cascaded over rocks into a lake below. She held her breath until the water surface became clear. The clouds and trees gleamed back at her in stilled silence. She waited for her reflection to appear.
That’s strange.
She waited a while longer.There’s simply nothing there.
She sighed. The trees in the water swayed but the wind couldn’t see a hint of her Self. She was unsure of what to do next.
How can this be so?
As the truth of her nothingness dawned on her, the wind began to howl in sadness. Storms of sand swept across desert plains and clouds pushed across a rolling sky. The wind lashed and raged until she grew tired, and once more she found herself upon the surface of the lake.
The world grew quiet as she sashayed softly with weariness. Ripples blew gently across the waters surface and through them, she could see the trees hold beat with her sway.
The wind began to stir deeply in recognition. She noticed how the leaves swirled in whirlwinds as she lifted upwards. She rose through the treetops and heard them shimmy with her as she passed. She rose over the island and sighed towards the earth through the clouds. As she saw herself bow in the curve of every blade of grass, the wind realised, not only was she the dancer, she was the dance.
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