{"id":1323,"date":"2009-10-28T15:10:06","date_gmt":"2009-10-28T22:10:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.coolkarma.com\/dharma\/?p=1323"},"modified":"2009-10-28T15:10:23","modified_gmt":"2009-10-28T22:10:23","slug":"devil-winds","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/?p=1323","title":{"rendered":"Devil Winds"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"devil<\/p>\n

“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.”<\/em><\/p>\n

Raymond Chandler \u2013 Red Wind<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

My sleep was fragmented and fitful last night as the house shook and I woke several times to loud screaks and ominous echoes.\u00a0 In California when the house rolls the first thing you think is earthquake, but if it is close to Halloween and it sounds like a ghost is in your attic, then the poltergeist is more likely to be the Santana Winds.\u00a0 The etymology of the Santana versus Santa Ana Winds is unclear, locals will tell you that the term Santa Ana is in fact a spoonerism from the original satanic description or as suggested through an anthology of LA Times references<\/a> of the wind storms dating as far back as 1886 it may have been a 1902 Santa Ana Chamber of Commerce meeting that asked the LA Times to find another term for the inclement weather.<\/p>\n

But what\u2019s in a name?\u00a0 Our firestorm winds of southern California play lead villain or ambient extra in a long list of pop culture icons<\/a> and we run both hot or cold depending on atmospheric conditions.\u00a0 From the erotic steamy heat breezes to the terrifying gusts of frigid blasts it is a small wonder our Devil Winds are the focus of so much folklore and allure.<\/p>\n

As I lay in bed in the early morning hours before having the energy or initiative to raise my body from the dead, I wondered why the central heat kept cycling on and off.\u00a0 My little dog was warm under the blankets and was content to continue to sleep with her head resting on my shoulder and the curve of her back pressed against my core.\u00a0 I whispered into her ear \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d And she was up on all fours before I even had time to turn the covers down.\u00a0 Taco stood patiently at the bedroom door as I collected up my things and slipped on my Birkenstocks.\u00a0 Dalai jumped up at the door lever as if I would have forgotten how to turn the knob without her help.\u00a0 As we stepped out into the hallway I could feel a blast of cold air hit my body.\u00a0 Shivering with wind chill as I made my way down the stairs I noticed that our red door to the front of the house had blown open.\u00a0 Our poor furnace had done her best to try and keep pace with the Santana but the house was wicked cold and full of every allergen in a ten mile radius.<\/p>\n

As I leaned my body onto the door to make sure it was latched and locked the house fell silent and I could once again hear the gurgle of the fish tank in the living room.\u00a0 I glanced around to see if our hairless cat<\/a> was still in the house.\u00a0 I pulled myself back upstairs to check the kids\u2019 rooms but no sign of Miss Millie.\u00a0 On the verge of concern, I popped back in the bedroom to ask my husband if she was sleeping under the covers with him.\u00a0 As Richard was stepping out of bed to come and help in the search, Dalai ran back in to my daughter\u2019s room and stood next to a pile of blankets in the corner of the closet.\u00a0 \u201cMi-i-i-i-llie-e-e-e-e are you there? Pst, pst, pst, pst.\u201d\u00a0 I called and out popped a very sleepy bald head that Dalai tried her best not to nibble.\u00a0 Seems Miss Millie had found a warm and quiet refuge from the storm.<\/p>\n

With our furless friends all safe and accounted for I made my way back downstairs to sit in front of a sunny window and watch the trees blow hard in our yard.\u00a0 Our microwave was on the fritz, so I poured some water into a tiny steel sauce pan and turned on the gas on my stove top.\u00a0 Maybe it was the cellular memory from the sound of the branches breaking off in the wind or how long it had been since I heated up water on the stove, but I remembered very clearly my first encounter with the Santana back in October 1981.<\/p>\n

I was a sophomore in college and living in a one bedroom apartment with a man I would one day marry.\u00a0 He was off to work at the warehouse and I had a few hours before my first class so I was sipping Folgers at our tiny kitchen table feverishly clipping coupons. Our long haired tortoise shell calico jumped in the window and my pulse quickened to scoop her out of the way before the landlord happened by the courtyard and saw that we were illegally housing a cat in our flat.\u00a0 The Santana winds were in full force and big eucalyptus tree limbs had already broken several windshields on the row of cars parked along Fifth Avenue.<\/p>\n

As the gusts came through the alleyway between the buildings it rattled the pans on the wall.\u00a0 I picked up my pack of Newports to settle my nerves and took a long slow drag.\u00a0 I could feel my heart pounding and the sound of the storm seemed as if it had broken through the pane glass and into my blood.\u00a0 I tried to take in a deep breath but the muscles in my chest contracted and I began to gasp for air.\u00a0 I had never before felt the surge of hormone run through my being as my pulse continued to quicken and I choked to get air into my lungs.\u00a0 I picked up the kitchen phone and called the campus switchboard to ask for student health services.\u00a0 A receptionist picked up the line and informed me that the staff was all in a meeting and no one was available to come to the phone, but that I could drop in after the lunch hour and be seen by the resident on duty.<\/p>\n

For what seemed like eternity though probably less than two hours, I sat frozen near the kitchen window unable to catch my breath.\u00a0 I actually have no memory of how I drove my little Chevette the fifteen minutes back to campus that day but I do remember meeting with the Doctor on call.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid it feel like a saber tooth tiger was chasing you?\u201d\u00a0 he asked me after I tried to describe my symptoms.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes!\u201d I said excited to have an image that matched what my body had been feeling.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you had was an asthma attack.\u00a0 I am going to prescribe you an inhaler to use the next time it happens and you\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

You see it was 1981 and Anxiety Disorders were only recognized the year prior by the American Psychiatric Association so at the time it would have been highly irregular for a medical doctor to pigeon hole a physical symptom on a stress reaction.\u00a0 Which of course has its perks and pitfalls because if I had not in fact had a panic flare that morning, the next year of using an epinephrine inhaler was certain to program my nervous system into a panic disordered pattern.\u00a0 Coupled with what is likely a genetic predisposition for dysautonomia, the medications they would prescribe to treat my non-existent asthma\u00a0 and my young and stupid years of caffeine and nicotine were all told the perfect storm<\/em> for what would become a life limiting physical illness and lifelong healing journey.<\/p>\n

But of course that\u2019s just one spin on a long disordered story that could easily have as many beginnings as it does false endings.\u00a0 Perhaps the serotonergic effects<\/a> of the Santa Anas created some kind of ambient anionization which apparently resembles a saber tooth tiger having a bad hair day.\u00a0 What\u2019s in a name or a story when we are living inside the illusion of our own egoic mind?<\/p>\n

Aaaah, the water is boiling \u2026. Time for a cup of decaffeinated<\/em> green tea and some luxurious deep breaths as I sit by the sun window and watch the dance of the Devil Winds with a peaceful mind.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1323","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-humor"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1323","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1323"}],"version-history":[{"count":23,"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1323\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1347,"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1323\/revisions\/1347"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1323"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1323"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.karmabytes.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1323"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}