The you inside you

The air is never truly still. The breeze sometimes spins up into wind, and the wind sometimes blows hard. It makes a racket and stirs up dust and brings clouds. And now and then it will snap branches off the tall trees and it will seem very dangerous.

But the trees survive and grow back, for their deep roots and trunks built from years and even decades or centuries give them great strength.

And you are like this, even when you do not know it.

The clouds bring rain, and the rain comes down. It washes away the surface of the ground even as it penetrates to feed the roots of the great trees. And there are great stones older than time with stories older than language. Their stories are of endurance, for the rain erodes the skin of the great stones but never threatens the deeper layers. Like the trees, their power comes from years, even eons of survival.

And you are like this, even when you cannot feel it.

Fear not the wind, nor the rain, nor the many other kinds of weather in the mind and in the heart. For they come and go, and you remain, and you grow wiser and more powerful. There is no limit to what you are, and any limits prescribed to you by others or adopted by yourself and the patterns of behavior and circumstance that follow their imprints are like wind and rain. They are to be endured, and learned from, even nourished by. They are not to be worshipped or obeyed.

The you that is there while these things come and go is the you that waits to be reclaimed. You are powerful, and solitude can speed recovery from the chaos of existence, but in the end, no one is truly alone. The connection to everything remains, waiting to serve where it is welcome. And at our best, we each become this service, and are thereby lifted above the great stones, above the great trees, and to a place where it all makes just a little bit more sense from the view of the birds.