by Adele Leung

I love Wind.  In the Quechua language, Wind is “Wayra”.

The first time I heard this word, it was in a ceremony with a few hundred people in Kutimbo, an open space for ancient tombs high on the plateaus in Puno, Peru.  The first time I said this word during this ceremony, the spirit of wind ran through my body and intoxicated my soul.

My love for wind came from my inherent intimacy with it.  Like wind, I have always felt more natural to expand into everything; to impress without being visible; to be everywhere in utmost freedom.  Even though I love wind, I used to feel intimidated by it.  It was at times too strong when I did not know how to be with it, and either fought or ran from it.

Until exactly a year ago, in one of the most difficult periods in my existing life, I made a decision to be in the energies of Peru during the Winter Solstice of the South.  This was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made in my life.  And it was one of the loneliest journeys I have ever embarked on.  With this decision, I had consciously allowed myself to experience two Winter Solstices in one year.  Winter Solstice is the day when the sun is the farthest away, where that part of the globe experience the least sun.  This is the day when we hold onto the energies of the dark .  It is an opportunity to drop into the greatest depths of stillness, to remain in the womb, to gestate, to receive, to feel.

I took this journey with my son, who also represented the sun for me.  He is young, a little sun, and perfect to accompany me on a journey towards the deepest and darkest within my soul, for journeys into our lower world is best done in as much solitude as possible.  We arrived on the highlands of Sacsayhuaman in Cusco.  I could feel the sky embracing my wounds.  The sun was no where to be seen, but the wind was vehement.  It was adamant, pushing me relentlessly.  I was very cold.  And within my bones, I was already frozen.  I wanted to run, but was unable to move.

With me was a young shaman friend.  I said, I could never really understand the wind.  I love it yet I fear it.  He said, close your eyes.  The wind continued to howl, without the Andean sun, everything felt incomplete, I felt incomplete, I was weak.  So I closed my eyes, and immediately, the wind came.  It teased me, cajoled me, laughed at my fragility.  I did not have sufficient energy to respond.  On the verge of tears, I began to breathe in deep awareness.  I began to breathe in the wind.  I felt it merging with me.  As I breathed deeper, I became warmer and the fire returned.  I was working with the wind, and I understood what it meant to become the element.  I became wind.

My eyes glistened with tears when I opened them.  Touched by the lesson from wind, even though night has already befallen, I did not feel cold anymore.  The fire within my heart has begun to return, on a day where light was the least sufficient geographically and astrologically.  My heart was so full of gratitude, for Wayra, beautiful and free Wayra.

It has been one year.  No matter where I am geographically, despite how the climate is, I am now no longer separate from Wayra.  We have learned to become each other and work in harmony with each other.  The intensity of wind brought about by the monsoon climate these days, once again brought me close to Wayra.  And dancing around it, it still continues to intoxicate, its laughter shrilling in my ears, its shadow lingering long after its kiss.

Wayra has taught me that my fire is within me.  At times I still forget and long to be made whole.  But wholeness is such only when it does not depend on anything.  In-truth, this is the teaching of the elements.  Only wholeness can be truly shared and united in harmony and love.

Remember wholeness.  Become wholeness.  Wholeness can never be depleted, it does not need, it is satiating and can always be shared.  Like the wind, it is infinite, encompassing and eternally present.