'And your very flesh shall be a great poem.' Walt Whitman

Lately the wind has been blowing here in the Sonoran desert. It puts a great amount of particulate into the air, and drives people mad. Like the Mistral. This was the first wind I experienced that people associated with causing a form of madness. The people in Provence dread the mistral, a cold, dry, northwesterly wind that howls through southern France, sometimes continuously for days. Its created when air whooshes through the Alps-Pyrenees gap and down the Rhone Valley toward the Mediterranean. I rather liked it actually, but then I guess I would learn to dislike it on a regular basis. Humans do this rather well, our madnes comes from the rebeliouness of our thoughts.  We forget we're in paradise.

Here in the beautiful desert, the wind picks up every so often and you'll see a giant wall of sand coming at you with tumbleweeds tumbling. You can also expect some weirdness to be reported by the barrista at your morning coffee, and learn that someone freaked out because the cake was too soft. You are plagued with thoughts of mass destruction at unexpected moments. You can watch everyone begin to lose their minds in all the emotional drama the wind kicks up. Then after you write this you turn on the radio and learn of the shootings in Virginia.

This is why we do sound yoga. We make our flesh a great poem. A sonic shelter in the storm. Om Ami Dewa Hrih

This sound piece is intended to create calm. It is a field recording of Ventana Canyon during a monsoon afternoon with a creek flowing temporarily, and a sonic layer of birds I was listening to outside my front door, and then some very calming Tibetan medicine bowls. For your enhanced sense of well being in these degenerate times. 

Ventana