I used to work in St George’s Terrace in my early twenties. The street was known to be the windiest in the city. All those tall buildings created a tunnel through which the wind danced and whistled, roared and rushed, whenever and however it fancied.

I was convinced that it was particularly ferocious when I stepped onto that street. It seemed to me that it waited till I was on my lunch break or on my way to the bus stop after work, and then it would gleefully storm through, lifting my skirts to my endless humiliation in the summer months or roaring with laughter as it caught at my umbrella and turned it inside out every winter.

I remember taking a deep breath most days, as I stepped out of the building, holding my bag tight and my skirt down. My hair was fair game, so my vanity had no hope. Others seemed not to care as much as I did. I hated that wind and continued my grudge against it even into my late thirties.

How things change. In my training in shamanism a few years ago, I came to know the wind as my friend. I came to know its presence in me and in the world around me. I would call upon Wayra, the silvery winds that blow to us from the four directions sweeping our fears away. I would breathe deeply of its freshness, taking it into my body as air, as life.

We lived in the hills for a time and most mornings I would invoke the directions. I would call, and out of the stillness, Wayra would come dancing through the trees, playing with my hair, cooling my skin. It would come and then it would quickly go and I would thank it for its fleeting but wondrously powerful presence.

A week or so ago I was walking with a friend through a small area of bushland. I had crossed a dry creek and felt a change in energy. A strong sense came over me: I was trespassing. Ignoring it, I took a few more steps in and my friend Wayra began to blow fiercely into my face. I called to my friend to be still. I had forgotten to seek permission from the natural custodial spirits of the land. Wayra continued to push against me as I made my apology and asked leave to enter, a few moments later, Wayra became still and it was like a gate had been opened and I knew that I could continue.

I am grateful for the experience and the reminder that my old friend Wayra’s presence is still so strong in my life.

This piece is written for you Wayra. Thank you.

                                                                                Posted by Sa Silvano 27th January 2018

1 Comment
  • Ros Betts
    Posted at 09:49h, 28 January

    Beautiful presence …