Dance of Iansã

The wind cannot be harnessed. You cannot stop it on its path, you can only harvest some of its power as it passes by on its way around the world. Like the tides its ebbs and flows can be mapped, the rivers of air flowing in patterns, circulating through every system. Every corner of the world. Never stopping, ever changing and yet constant. Like an invisible pulse.

The power of the air is unseen. You cannot see it, you can only see the effect it has on everything. Trees wave to its rhythms, swaying in its streams and eddies. Clouds float, birds fly, chimes sing out to tell of its passing. It whispers its secrets to you as it passes, bringing news of other dreams flung to its skies as it flies by the sleeping people, making its way across the world to circle back again.

Swirling in its cycles, each one a marvel. No straight lines in its fractal waves, just curves and swirls and curlicues turning back on themselves in a vast invisible paisley pattern, never ending, always in motion. Lifting us up to its heavens. We should be so lucky to have it come by us. To share its power for our comfort, to put its shoulder to our wheel.

May the building continue. May we learn to ride the waves and reach our goals. If the wind would deign to assist who are we to refuse!