They whispered to her : “You can’t withstand the storm.” She whispered back: “I am the storm!”
The storm of change is within me. I am the quiet storm. I am the eye of the storm. I am the spark through which all things ignite, and the burning brings stillness. The mind scatters the ashes to bring the all mighty quietness of being. It lifts all the encumbering layers and disperse their remnants to be transformed and spring up in another part of consciousness to serve someone else’s journey. And ashes become seeds to bring new, fresh growth.
I am tending to my seeds. There has been time where I neglected to water them, to look at them, to love them. There has been times where they scared me and I treated them like weeds, or others where I urged them to become fully grown, ripe and blossomed before their time.
Now I see the plentifulness of them all. I discern some of them more clearly and give them nourishment and nurture best I can. I have stopped berating myself for my faux-pas and my forgetfulness, and instead let them know that we’re a team, teaching each other, supporting each other, expanding together.
My internal storm of sifting, sieving and nurturing. I can’t fathom the plethora of seeds emerging, but that too, I have understood not to worry about. In the same way that the billions of cells in my body do not need a conscious input to work harmoniously and efficiently, my seeds of healing and growth only need a fertile and welcoming soil to spring up and beautify.
This time, this life time, my storm is gentle. My quiet storm is neither one of activism nor one of contemplation. It has arisen from the alchemy of both. I brews deep inside me, and my surroundings perfectly mirror it, so that adjustments can be made when their need is perceived.
I sit quietly in the eye of the storm, at one with myself so that I can be at one with the universe. I am part of consciousness and consciousness itself.
We are the storm. Our fringes are turbulent and safe, so long as we hold on to the chord in our center. We are the storm, we needn’t endure our own wrath. We’re here to tend to our, individual and collective, newness and see it birth from our center.
I sit in the eye of the storm, high above and down below. The storm is my playground. I am the storm.