At ten in the morning, I’m wrapped in a robe, my dog snores softly beside me, and a steaming mug of coffee is within reach as I open my laptop to begin. My usual sunny outlook is displaced by the feeling of a memory just out of reach of conscious thought, hidden — or maybe, caused by — the rain outside my window.
Perhaps my writing should match the dreary weather today. Something thought-provoking to inspire reflections astute enough to occupy even the most distracted mind. Instead, I sit here unable to form an actionable plan because my heart and mind are hypnotized by the trees bowing to the wind.
Days like today usually bring gloom to my mood that matches the low covering of dark clouds. Today though, I don’t mind. With chaos filling the news stream, it comforts me to know that even Nature wants to cry.
From my bedroom window, a squirrel streaks through the backyard with a nut in its mouth, on a mission to prepare for the coming winter months. If only preparing for this winter was so easy. I’m envious of the squirrel’s confidence in survival.
Outdoors have been our sole escape, what are we to do when we must come inside and are stuck with ourselves for company? A piece of me hopes the rainfall will provoke moments of reflection. But I fear it will only amplify frustrations.
Frustration and melancholy are popular themes as of late. I wonder if we’ve forgotten what it is to hope or dream? Or are we dreaming now? If so, what will we wake to? Who can tell us about our fate? They say we’re connected to the rain. Some can feel storms brewing in their bones. Can they feel one forming now?
The rain comes in as many forms as we do. Drizzle and mist, downpours and hail, monsoons and sprinkles, reflect our dreams, ambitions, and failures.
Rain obeys no rules. It falls in any way it feels, but the result is always the same — Life. No matter how hard hail slams down from the sky, it will melt and quench thirsty roots. Just as we must express our emotions if we hope to feed our souls.
Is it possible there’s still something wild buried deep inside, connecting us to the very Nature we pretend we are above?
Our evolution is impressive, but surely, there’s more to us than bills and taxes. We’ve domesticated ourselves as thoroughly as dogs. So long as we don’t become similarly unrecognizable to our roots. The rain, I believe, reminds us.
It speaks in an archaic language we’ve forgotten, but it sounds so familiar to us. Like the tune of an old jewelry box with a spinning ballerina. The rhythm of its message soothes us to sleep and reminds us of connections to a forgotten past.
We’re missing something. Something true and deep. A truth omitted on a grand scale. Sit still and listen to the rain, it’ll tell you as it told me. We are more than we’re allowing ourselves to be.