The Winds that Rewrite Us
Silence our Return
Constantly changing are the winds — not just of weather, but of thought. Stirring the dust of old beliefs — scatter the pages of stories we were taught.
New thoughts rise like morning mist — soft and strange — unformed but true. Reality bends — perception twists — skies wearing a different hue.
Clung to the tales — heroes, villains, sacred scripts — now feel like costumes worn too long, threads unraveling at the fingertips.
Is it all fantasy?
A dream?
A divine construct dressed in flesh and time?
What I called truth in younger years — echoing now like a nursery rhyme. But this is not despair — shedding of skin — as the soul does not mourn its molting, it dances in the wind within.
So how do we write a new story that leads without leading — teaches without teaching — awakens without waking?
We become the mirror — not the map. We speak in symbols — not in steps. We offer silence where answers once stood — walking the path — letting others feel the wood.
The story is not told — it is lived — felt in the breath between words. It is the wind itself — changing — knowing — that comes when no one is watching.
~Ani Po
