I won't say I love the cold rain. I won't say I love being soaked to the skin. I won't say I'm alright with how long it takes for my boots to dry. But I will say it enlivens me and awakens a part of me that slumbers in the warm and sunny weather. I will say that jumping in puddles is fun and that I'm far too old to be enjoying such things. I will say that a part of me finds a beauty in wondering how many raindrops there are and listening for them in the meditative pitter patter.
It takes a time of quiet safety for the child-self to reemerge into the consciousness, to have the courage to pull up a chair at the grand table of the self. Walking in the rain became a perfect time to gain that sense of safety, of inner peace, and the courage to listen to what the child-self has to say.
The rain came as a million soul fragments in a chorus together, all asking for what this water plus sunshine and seeds evolved to bequeath to all creation. Each step through was a small prayer and a promise to help build a better world.
The rain came as if intent to water me, to share its bountiful life force, to nurture my soul until it was ready to be present in world, ready to see with fresh eyes.
There is something about a rain-washed pathway that invites playful feet, that says each new step will be rewarded with a splash.
Each raindrop is a doorway into nature's heart, an invitation of sorts, a request for your soul to rejoin creation.
In the rain there is a serenity, a sense of peace that offers to resonate with the peaceful elements of the soul. Walking among those drops is my meditation, a way to fully become present in the moment, a way to feel free.
Upon the umbrella come the playful sounds of dancing drops, and from it's rim comes the sight of their more relaxed cousins, dripping as if their soul purpose was to bring a sense of ease and calm to the day. And as the rain became more intense, it began to soak the bottom of each pale blue jean leg, deepening the denim to a stronger hue, bringing my brown boots to a glossy water-shine, becoming a kind of natural cocoon.
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