Storm
- Lina Mystic
- Oct 10
- 1 min read
Has anyone noticed the winds lately? The chill feels familiar, yet it brings unfamiliar changes. You may want to greet it, but you were raised not to exchange with strangers. But this stranger doesn't feel like one. It feels ancient.
You smell the air, and it brings nostalgia but also grief. You loved it when things were simpler. You realize you're grieving simplicity, innocence, and purity. So many storms have come and gone bearing weight. You brace yourself in case the next one consumes you.
But then you watch the storm as the skies change, the water rises, and the wind blows.
You realize you are the storm.
You are right at the center of it, the eye. The rage it brings is an undiscovered grief within you. Its rain is your tears of anguish. The wind is your breath, blowing from exhaustion.
Your observance and attention alone calms the storm. You recognize this power. You remind yourself never to forget it again. The storm is me, unheard, unloved, without care. The storm is me healing. The storm is me, and I am the storm.
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