Wound Up Like The Wind

outbound
for places old and new

wound up like the wind

restless and insatiable

the mind is moving ever on

returned
yet not the same

recomposed every instant
each one a revelation

JB - 04/13/2012

I often find my mind drawn to the wind. Maybe that's because they share three letters, while the fourth is just flipped on it's head.  More likely, it's because wind strikes me as an almost mystical entity.

As a child I wondered where wind came from, and I'll admit that I still struggle to get a good mind-wrap on the subject.  For some reason, absent the childhood depictions of a face in the sky blowing air around, it just doesn't make sense to me where wind finds its impetus.

There's something fascinating about being able to take a substance like air... so near unreal that we use it as the basis for weightlessness and how soft a thing can be... yet a simple flip of perspective (it moves) turns it into something completely different.

We all think we have the world figured out, at least well enough to manage with the necessary things of life - but how dramatic a change can be brought about by a shift in status.  Sometimes we forget that all is relative.  The same glass of water is cold or hot depending on our body temperature... the sun is rising or setting depending on where we are... happiness and joy, sadness and despair come and go... even people themselves are alive or dead, given enough time.

Everything in this transitory world is inconstant, yet we must place faith upon it as it is the entire basis for our physical existence.

My over-active nerd-brain finds that a strange contradiction.

A Revolution: Not To Change, But To Return

I attended the Green Lake Baha’i Conference this weekend.  I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and was even introduced to the work of Anis Mojgani – a slam poet who produces amazing, expressive, thought-provoking work.  Potential poetry, his is not.  More to the point of the story, however, one of the breakout groups they had was about telling your story.  The description mentioned blogs, so I wandered in.  Wandering out, I took away the view that expressing ourselves is one way of encouraging understanding.  There was more to it, but those are the words I have settled on for the moment.

We spent maybe 3 minutes writing about our spiritual journey, starting sentences with “I remember.”  From there, we then just started writing what came to mind for another 10 minutes.  Afterwards, I spent some time putting the resulting words into a semblance of order and this is what resulted.

As I post this, I am no longer in the same place emotionally.

~~~

I find myself thoughtful without direction.  My over-active nerd-brain runs wild, stampeding violently past as I try to lasso a stray thought.  The ones I capture are but mere shadows of the stallions I see blazing past.  I circle back.  I circle back.  I circle back, but I never see them again.

Recalling the Genesis of Ourself

i remember a little girl

i remember a hill

i remember a drink dispenser

a conference at camp tecumseh

i remember mysterious paths

cars in the woods

hidden schools just over the hill

rocky inclines where water used to be

i remember friends and community

gathered at happy hollow park

i remember the speech they had us practice

and the games based on virtues

i remember memorizing a prayer

on the way to somewhere i’ve forgotten

and the feeling of pride in the accomplishment

i remember our father snapping his fingers

when we talked during prayers

and the sternness of disappointed stares

i remember wrestling and jumping on the bed

sent to play after devotionals

i remember a number of things

enough to reflect

too little to recreate

-JB 08/27/11

I know that I come back to the same thoughts, the same emotions.  I’m a record skipping willfully - an out-dated version of myself trying to hold onto cherished relics from a past era.  One such is recycled regret over, more than the loss of innocence, the forfeiture of myself (even if just a little) to a world that continually moves on, allowing no return to pick up the pieces of poor choices.

If I could find that truer self who I took out in the woods and told to stay, I’d let him know that I don’t think remembering him is a waste of time, and I try to remember as often as possible.

In the absence of Marty McFly… remembering will have to do.