Rage of the Tempest

The wind, a light but steady pace, feels cool and refreshing, but with it the sounds of fierceness flow. The tempest approaches. Being still, we hear the rush of the wind, its feel upon us, and in that stillness, a wonderful stillness, the feeling of an extreme storm rises. The tempest, like hundreds of times before, can rage with unforgiving force.

We sit, quietly enjoying the fresh cool breeze, listening to the birds and the frogs, seeing the bright colors and shades of green in the trees and the robust brown of the trunks, the tips of the green grass fluttering, the sun high in the heavens. But we know that silently, unexpectedly, the tempest will take us.

The wind grows stronger, and with it, the birds become quiet, the trees become dim, the grass is frozen, the sun lost. The feel of wonder and fear strikes, and like a bolt of lightning, the tempest fills us. The birds, the frogs, the trees, the sun, all are gone now. The rage and torrent of the stiff and unrelenting wind engulfs our very being. We are afraid; anxiety seizes our very being. We sit motionless as the rage of the tempest engulfs all color and sound. Nothing is stirring, nothing can move in the tempest.

As our heart beats rapidly, our muscles become tense, our mouth dry. We try to look away, trying with all of our might to weather the tempest. We fight and struggle against it, hoping, with all of our fervor, that surely it will come to an end.

Where is everything? Why can't we see and hear the beauty that was before? But alas, we are lost within its grip, a grip so strong that to fight is useless. But still we fight. And in this fight the tempest grows stronger, harder, faster.

What is this place? Where have we gone? The look and feel of everything around us is somehow blurred and dim, somehow wrong. But it looks like the same place we were in, and then again somehow different. In despair, we look all around us hoping to find what once was. But it is nowhere in sight. We listen, forcing ourselves to hear what once was, and it also is gone.

We sit motionless — flowing on a river of fear, anxiety, hopelessness, aggression — within the tempest. We search, we struggle, seeking a way out, our eyes closed, with all hopes that this is just a bad dream. But a dream it is not. And we grow cold, hard, bitter; there is nothing that can be done. We are helpless. Suddenly and unexpectedly, we open our eyes to the tempest — the howling rush of the raging wind, its darkness among the light, its very existence. We understand now.

A bright ray of sunlight bursts through the clouds revealing itself to us once again. The birds and frogs have returned, and with them the trees are green, the trunks brown and full of life. The grass is steadfast and colorful. The tempest is gone; its rage over. We sit motionless, peacefully seeing the beauty of life once again.