When The Winds Blow

Bow Your Head

Photo by Khamkéo Vilaysing on Unsplash

The other day, I was having a rough morning, feeling the despair of the world heavy on my shoulders. It’s not an unusual condition for me these days, but it’s not helpful. It wears me down. Looking out the window, I noticed the sun was shining and it was warm, so I decided to get away from doom-scrolling to take a walk on our local rail trail.

Not far from the trailhead, I saw an older man in a tousled rag-wool beanie and a dusty, heavy coat leaning against his walking stick, staring up at a tree and gesturing wildly. I know most of the people who live around here, and I didn’t recognize him. My first thought was that he might be homeless, but we don’t have many homeless people in rural Vermont. I kept walking until I got closer.

As I approached, he turned to me and waved, “Don’t mind me. I’m just having a conversation with this maple tree.”

“Cool!” I said and stood beside him. “What’s it saying?”

“You see this bend in it?” He pointed to a branch curved so deeply it almost touched the ground. “It got pummeled by the wind, so it’s bowing. But it’s still strong.”

“Hmmm. Yes, I see that.”

“It’s kind of like me,” he said. “I got pummeled by the wind of life. That’s why I’m like this.” He grinned toothlessly. I noted his tattered oil-cloth coat, his bent spine, gnarled hands, and the deeply weathered lines around his watery-blue eyes that still had a little twinkle in them. He did look like he’d seen some tough days.

“But I’m still here ‘cuz I’m a mean somabitch,” he laughed and shrugged impishly.

We stood on the path talking for another few minutes, and he told me about a dog he once had, a stray that was half wolf and half shepherd. “That dog was mean looking,” he reminisced. “He had been through stuff, too, but he was a good dog. He had a good heart.”

“Something tells me you’re a little like that dog,” I offered.

He paused a long while and seemed to drift off. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he finally admitted and a tear came to his eye. He wiped it away and told me he needed to go because he had to take his heart medicine. His doctors said he only had 25 percent of his heart working and probably didn’t have much time left, but because he was such “a mean somabitch” he was still alive.

“I’m glad you are” I said.

“Me, too,” He nodded.

With that, he bowed solemnly to the tree and hobbled off down the road. As I watched him, I felt oddly happy. Here I had been all twisted up in the world’s windstorm, bent around and getting snarly, but in his “mean SOB” way, this gift of a man reminded me that we, too, can weather the winds of life with a good heart. And sometimes, the winds themselves make our hearts strong.

Sometimes, the winds themselves make our hearts strong.

There are many spiritual teachings about suffering in all traditions, but one thing they all have in common is that suffering is optional. As the Buddha said in the first of the Four Noble Truths, shit will happen. Noble means True or Real. It’s true that we will lose things we love, get old, get sick, and die, and there’s nothing we can do about that. It’s just fact.

But how we respond to what happens is the trick. If we turn these facts of life and death into a pity-party or victim narrative, or we let them make us into mean old SOBs, we have not exercised our option. If we do not see everything that happens as a blessing or opportunity to learn, we give up our choice not to suffer. Like Job, we can rail against God, or refuse to accept the situation for what it is, but that just makes things worse. You cannot stop the wind, but, as the saying goes, you can adjust your sails.

I am reminded of the Hebrew phrase, Ruach Elohim. Usually translated as the Spirit of God, Ruach means “breath” or “wind,” and it appears several times in the Bible. It is the Ruach Elohim or the Wind of God that hovers over the waters in Genesis, breathing life into the void. Job says it is the Wind of God (Ruach Elohim) that created him and the breath of God that gave him life. The Ruach, or Wind, is Life itself.

And yet, there is a paradox here. Wind can be creative or destructive. One of the most destructive forces on Earth is a tornado. In a matter of seconds, a spinning column of air can annihilate homes, businesses, and lives. In recent years, there have been more tornadoes and windstorms than ever wreaking havoc across this country.

And yet, there is a paradox here. Wind can be creative or destructive.

Several weeks ago, we had a massive windstorm here. Seven hours straight of 70+ mph winds toppled massive trees, collapsed outbuildings, and ripped shingles off roofs like leaves. It was Biblical. There was nothing I could do but sit in my trembling house, hoping like hell it stayed put, and watch it happen.

When it was all over, my farm looked like a war zone and I was curled up in a sobbing heap, overwhelmed by the disaster on my doorstep. The Winds of God had laid waste to my home, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I could handle what needed to be done to repair everything.

One of the only things that sustained me in those first few hours is a poem by Christina Rosetti, “Who Has Seen the Wind?”

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

When the winds of life or the Ruach pass through, sometimes we get pummeled like the curved tree I was shown on the path, like the good-hearted, not-so-mean SOB who pointed it out to me, like the 50-foot spruce that was uprooted and flayed across my driveway. Sometimes we bend, sometimes we break, but sometimes, if we just bow our heads, we make it through.

Bowing our heads is both an act of humility and self-preservation. Bowing says we recognize that we are nothing against the Ruach, the ever-changing, unpredictable, creative, destructive Winds of God/Ultimate Reality/Spirit/Source/Life. But at the same time, bowing means we accept that the wind is going to blow. That’s the part the makes suffering optional. We may not like it, and we may be a little weathered by it, but it is the acceptance – the bowing - that makes us stronger.

Bowing our heads is both an act of humility and self-preservation.

Fortunately, I know some guys and the farm is almost back to normal, minus a few ancient trees and outbuildings that may not get rebuilt. It’s OK. Now, I actually have a clearer view of the mountains, easier access to the fields, and big pile of firewood for next year.

The sun was shining again yesterday, and I went for another walk. The morning felt lighter, clearer, and I felt a little stronger against the winds of despair that still pass through. I hoped to see my old tree-talker bowing to the bent maple, but he wasn’t there. The tree was, however, and surprisingly, it seemed like it stood a little bit straighter.

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God Was In the Wind, A walking poem/meditation, By Brian McLaren

Today I walked around the block,
And God was in the wind.
When I left my doorway walking east,
God came at me from the south,
Constant, warm, fertile, salty, alive,
Saying, “Flow with me.”
I did at the corner, and God came at me
From behind, pushing me forward.
“Don’t stop,” God said.
“Go farther.”

We passed two neighbors talking by a mailbox,
With a dog off the leash, waiting at the front door.
Cardiologist was the only word I heard,
Or needed to hear.
We kept walking with that word,
Holding mercy for everyone everywhere.
Past the pond where the ibises sat,
We turned left and
God came at me from my left,
Blowing all ideas from my mind, or
Maybe blowing all ideas through my mind.
Either way, I remember nothing.
It was a glorious way to be.
 
At the corner,
I turned left again, into the wind,
Heading home.
I climbed the hill.
The eagle was not there today,
The one who sits sentinel atop the Norway Spruce
With the broken top.
“Walk into me,” God said.
“Withstand me as I oppose you:
A steady flow of pure incoming acceptance.”
My speed encountering God’s speed
Intensified everything.
 
Crested flycatchers sat on the power line,
Every so often,
Swooping out and back for food I could not see.
I came upon a family of burrowing owls,
Parents and five owlets.
There are no better companions for
Wide-eyed contemplation.
We gazed upon each other
For a while and
Now I am home.