It’s twilight and I am sitting on the front porch listening to the rain. Ours has been a dry spring and these thunder showers are truly welcome; the birds greet the rain with their joyous songs. If I were wearing my hearing aids, would I hear tree frogs?
Our holiday was much needed and truly healing. For two weeks we roamed northern Italy, meeting people, eating, and immersing ourselves in Italian culture. Now we are home and my legs are recovering. There is always more to experience than my Polio body can manage; the eyes are hungry and the body wishes to follow, often at considerable expense. I’m better at resisting the eye’s desire, yet….
Morning, and the rain continues, lighter now. Yesterday’s warmth has gone. Our doors are closed, as are most of our windows. The neighbors’ houses are sealed against the return of early April cold. Of course, June arrives tomorrow and with it, inevitably, the warmth will return. These seasonal changes are a profound ritual that marks the turning year and our evolving lives. They hold our hope and our curiosity. How often I have heard someone who was ill say, “I would love to see the coming of spring, summer, fall, or winter”, the next turning of the year. We all wonder what will happen next.
We are born into story, and as we age we become increasing attune to the nuances of the tale being told. The stories are rich and complex, filled with meaning and multidimensional in perspective. Our point of view, derived from the textures and hues of our lived experiences, enriches the narrative in subtle, unknowable ways. Yet, when barraged with the lives and prejudices of the powerful, we may forget that each being’s experience is crucial to that of the whole. Of course, even this fierce contesting of meaning is part of the larger unfolding narrative.
So often, the world seems imperiled, the story of our shared lives filled with conflict, anguish, and fear for the future. For the moment, as the rain falls, refreshing the world, we need only listen with our whole being, and be filled with joy.
14 thoughts on “The Joy of Rain”
Michael, this is so incredibly beautiful, and profound…it brought tears to my eyes. Perhaps a little melancholy, perhaps a lot of joy…quite possibly because of EVERYTHING! You brought me to a place inside that feels connected to the whole…to every being, to everything. Thank you for this bliss on the Sunday morning. Many blessings to you my friend ❤
Oh, Lorrie! I am so glad! It is a joy to share this!
enjoyed experiencing your holiday story,
your joyful resilience
and the rain, michael 🙂
Thank you! I’m afraid the joy and resilience are at best intermittent, and I am working on it.But then, you of course know this. LOL!
Wonderful to read that you had a nice trip to Italy Michael and even you need to relax now to recover, I hope that you feel it was your travel worthy 😀
We must be beneath the same sky Michael. Welcome home and yes, the rain, a renewal.
Beautifully tranquil Michael, I love the rain and always find it inspiring. I’m glad to hear you had a good break.
Yes, Andrea, it was a lovely holiday. Much play and good food, sweet people, and new places.
Indeed. Says it all. The power and passion, very eloquently encapsulated! A breath of fresh air. Thank you for that lungful.
Thank you! May it be deeply healing.
It was indeed, thank you!
Beautiful. And we tell of the sun and rain in our own way. Let us not forget how much we all need them.
Holistic Wayfarer, the weather has turned warm and dry. We are watering the gardens, and hoping for rain. Always change. Always moments that invite our gratitude.