She’s scary, exciting, dangerous. Even as I move from place to place to get out of her way, I may still get stuck. Many loved ones are in her path.
Biminites say “Its in God’s hands”. The surrender that comes from doing what you can and then accepting your fate is calming, healing, sometimes refreshing. But it comes in waves, between troughs of uncertainty. My friends, me, my boat and stuff, are we safe? Is Irma in God’s hands only, or is there something, anything, I can do?
All that force and fury, spinning tightly around a perfectly calm center. I go from the whirlwind of activity and thought and back into the calm, only to find myself in the storm again.
I see scared people, anxious people, angry people, and a few calm ones, those in their own quiet center. Each of them an oasis, inviting me to do the same.
Red ants bite my legs as I signal the driver backing my boat into its ‘safe’ berth. Pitbulls on chains lunging at me as I lose focus then come back. Big lines of travelers ahead of me, I tense. Finding a seat, I sigh. No water at the store I swallow, thirsty. Seeing an isle of fruit juices I relax.
It comes in waves. Irma has some big ones. Guess we’re all surfers in one way or another. That’s swell with me.
I am so conditioned to ‘categorize’ everything into size, strength, power; good or bad, terrible or great. Here is Irma, destroying, transforming, renewing. But now that i am out of her potentially dangerous part while others currently face her fury, is it ok to count her blessings?
Thank you Irma for reminding me i am mortal, and to suck the marrow out of each moment. Thank you for showing me how blessed i am, by the love of family and friends who reached out to ask if I am safe. Thank you for the unpredictability of your path, reminding me the engine of life is change, neither good nor bad, only constant. Thank you for pushing up against me, soaking me, nudging and buffeting me as I walk, lungs pumping, eyes darting, palms swaying, skin rippling.
My love of nature, of the elements, of wind and rain flows freely into you, into your vortex, your eye. For days I have asked you to soften, but that is my agenda, for part of me fears change, destruction, death, forgetting it is part of life, birth, transformation.
Irma, I give you all that is old and archaic; these ideas, beliefs, allegiances. I throw my caution to the wind and waltz in your embrace.
I am thrilled when you stop me mid-step, wow! But not too much, I don’t want to be blown down the street like the palm fronds, tumbled into piles over the storm drains. Something primal rises to greet you, skin prickling… Thank you Irma, I am alive 🙂
