Abstract:

Once—it was in the time of the Corona epidemic—the Wind God appeared in my dream. It was just before dawn, and in the dream I was in India with a group of students and friends, but I didn’t know what to show them. I was out alone, searching for a suitable site. Early morning. At the edge of a field of ripening wheat, or maybe paddy. Suddenly a wild gust of wind passed through the sheaves, making them dance, then even lifting them out of the earth and setting them down again some distance away. There was a rhythm to this dance, syncopated, not too fast or too slow. Watching the scene, I knew it was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. I wanted to capture it on my camera, but it was over long before I’d finished my fumbling, so I missed it. It was a mistake even to try. Who would want to capture the wind? I waited for it to happen again, and indeed there came another burst, rippling through the growing grain, no less beautiful than before.