THE FORCE OF CONFORMITY

I know I shouldn't take it personally.  When we moved into this sprawling rural complex four years ago I made sure it was OK to hang my beloved wind chimes.  They  were a gift from Cully, the nicest possible chimes, Music of the Spheres Mongolian Chimes, richly melodic.  They ground me and give me great comfort and pleasure. Hearing them fills my heart.

They reside in a little corner nook outside the bedroom window, a few feet from my head.  I keep my window cracked open, yes even on frigid Wisconsin nights, so I can hear them, even in my dreams.  There is a woods behind us, and other buildings create a somewhat protected courtyard area. Several lush bushy pines surround these chimes as well, buffering them from fierce weather They hang patiently and gently sing when the wind finds them, and I am grateful for this simple joy.

Fast forward four years. The manager of the complex calls to very nicely inform me that we have a new neighbor and they have complained.  Yes, the chimes were there when they decided to rent here.  And yes, nobody else of the hundreds of neighbors has EVER complained.  And frankly, my not being allowed to hang them would have been a deal breaker for me, moving in. Nonetheless, they must come down. 

Cully fetches them, my heart is heavy.  They are tangled in a mute heap in the corner.  Their silence is deafening.  Hark!  Hear the airplanes, low in the sky. We are in the flight path of the international airport up the road. Ooh, the endless thrum of thousands of cars and trucks zooming endlessly around the clock on the TWO major highway systems, within a mile.  Ah, the distinctive sound of the train! I favor the sound of the train at least. I don't however favor the rest of the intrusive sounds of the human rat race. Energetically it is draining.

I feel so defeated.  Intolerance has moved into my neighborhood and raised it's ugly head.  I'm grieving, I'm sad, I'm angry.  Those chimes were Cully's first token of affection, many years back. Those melodies embody this old-ish crippled blind lady's precious connection to nature, to the gently wafting wind.  They were God's whispers to me they soothed my pain.  Suddenly I feel trapped, caged in a place where my spirit is no longer understood or welcome or tolerated. The seed of fear has been planted  I wonder what they will complain about next?

But wait... the birds are singing. The branches are whispering. The spirit must find refuge where it may!