the winds of change
I am crouched on a bluff over the ocean with my feet sunk literally into the earth. The fingers on my hands are dug into the soil holding on with every ounce of my being. The winds of change roar with turbulence and beat against me again and again. I loose my center and go off kilter. I go into my heart to find my way back to center stuggling through the pain. The winds push me off again. I find my way back again. Each time is easier in that I know the way better.
She tests me. She is making me into something else. She is stripping me down to my center. I can feel in my bones that I am doing what I need to be doing and I must not leave the path or step out of the flow however intense it becomes. That I will die if I leave the change dance now, and I don't want to die.
"The call to power necessitates a separation from the mundane world: the neophyte turns away from the secular life, either voluntarily, ritually, or spontaneously through sickness, and turns inward towards the unknown, the mysterium." from Shaman: The Wounded Healer by Joan Halifax