Saturday, 10 October 2015:
Instead of enjoying the day out at Ulla Hudson’s Windsong Icelandic Horse Center, I’m in bed. Even though master horseman, Steinar Sigurbjornsson (Stay-nar, as in ‘narcotic’), is conducting the second day of his much anticipated three day clinic at Windsong, I have surrendered to the fact that being in bed is the only intelligent choice remaining open to me. And I’m actually a little truant in arriving at that conclusion.
I’ve been aware of this incipient wind invasion for probably over a month. I have ignored it, been well aware that I’ve been ignoring it, entirely cognizant of its very slow, yet persistent progress. I’ve recognized all along I’ve been pushing my luck—knowing full well that I have not been following the advice I would give my own clients.
The past few months have been a remarkable time in my life. The love really is becoming almost more than I can bear. Not coincidentally, that experience has been accompanied by unprecedented levels of surrender. So deep that I really have no clue what the next moment holds, much less the entire day. Yet the guidance is flawless—far exceeding anything mind could conjure up. And full of the most exquisite love and protection. Anyone familiar with the phenomena of which I speak knows that I may have the sequence of those statements confused.
Nonetheless, the shift to such a way of being is more than slightly disorienting to the mind, which is hanging on for dear life. With any luck, it will lose its grip…. Time and space become compressed. Change occurs much more rapidly, most often effortlessly, and quite often without giving it any attention whatsoever. Dazzling events become the norm—not visions or out of the body experiences, but life! Perfection truly is everywhere.
This shift is also accompanied by an entirely new relationship to energy. Sue seems to regard me as the ‘energizer bunny’, but what’s evolving now is magnitudes greater—both inflow and outflow. The Master has described the phenomenon of riding these energy flows as one would a surfboard. Avoid this wave, grabbing a propitious one. Wait. Wait. Oh, look, let’s swoop down and pick this one up, deal with that. Quick glance over the shoulder to see what’s next. Oh shit, this could be interesting! Deeper surrender.
It takes some practice. I’m game, but I’m unable at this moment to say with certainty why I have uncharacteristically ignored this wave, which is really just a little nothing, but I’ve been watching it a long time now, and the outcome of my choice was pretty predictable. Interrupting its trajectory would have been so simple to do. But here I am. Happily writing, discovering as I write.
And being reminded to have another hit of herbs.
So what is a Wind Invasion? Wind is a pathogenic factor in Oriental medicine, both figurative and literal. Wind has characteristic behaviors, like moving around, sudden onset, seeking to penetrate defensive Wei Qi, which protects the inner. Wind is persistent. It’s everywhere. When it does successfully invade, it typically escorts other pathogenic factors, such as Cold, Heat, Damp, or Dryness into the exterior with it. Wind can also be an internally generated phenomenon. These are likely to be more serious manifestations, such as migraine, stroke or epilepsy. In its persistence, Wind can be devastating and deadly, both literally and figuratively. In Oriental medicine, all principles are simultaneously metaphoric and literal—science, quietly sung in colorful strokes of truth.
This particular invasion was recognizable as Wind Cold, from the beginning. Slight sniffles, clear phlegm, increasing from barely noticeable, to quite prominent on wakening. Slight tightness of the head. Distinct aversion to cold. Gradual loss of smell. Yet there were hints of Heat, as well. Occasional suggestion of sore throat, foul tasting sinus drainage.
Historically, as an adult, Wind Invasions have shown up as Wind Heat for me. Yet I haven’t even experienced a threat in two or three years. This summer has been uncharacteristically cool for the New Mexico high country, and very damp. Much of the summer was literally tropical. So, conditions and landscape have been changing, internally and externally.
On Friday, I was suitably bundled up for a day outside in wind and blustery cold. I was auditing, not riding the clinic, since Palina is Sue’s horse, and she’s the only one we own. Still, it was too much, and before the end of the day, I realized I had overstepped the boundary. I was toast. And the piper must be paid.
So, after Sue left this morning to ride in Steinar’s clinic, I went back to bed and slept for perhaps three hours. I’ve spent the majority of the day in bed, relaxing, contemplating, writing and editing photos I took the day before. The couple of times I’ve gone outside for brief, necessary tasks, I was bundled up and wore a wool cap. And since yesterday, I’ve been hammering down my favorite liquid Chinese formula to dispel Wind Cold.
Sue had a long, intensely vigorous day at the clinic, where she was pushed physically and had her comfort levels healthily challenged. She arrived home shortly after sunset. Simultaneously, as they often do as night falls, my little health challenge worsened. Most disturbingly, I had the distinct sensation that it was entering the upper part of my lungs. How perfect! Deeper surrender, again.
A cough was starting to show up, as well. Silently regretting having given a friend the last of a bottle of my favorite cough formula, which I had with me ‘by mistake’ when I discovered he needed it Thursday night, I searched the cupboards for more, or a suitable substitute. Sue had already suggested some ginger tea, which might push it out before the pathogen became lodged in the lungs. She had also already taken a hot bath and gone to bed. I found a nearly empty, and very old bottle of Qing Fei Tang, a very effective formula for the ‘right’ cough, and a couple of other promising choices. I took them all, and immediately started sneezing violently with simultaneous chills and fever, chills dominant. This is actually a good sign, because it suggests that the pathogen is still, or has suddenly moved back, to the exterior and out of the lungs.
Sue came out of her bedroom for something just then, and we celebrated this news, and she reminded me to make the ginger tea, which I had already forgotten. I’m back in bed, and the pathogen is definitely back in my head. My ginger tea is about gone, and it’s time for sleep.
Who knows what’s in store for tomorrow? As usual, I’ll be the last to know.