The rain surrounds us.
It is elemental. Embedded in our day-to-day, we neither panic nor galavant in its presence. Nothing strikes us out of the ordinary as the heavens open up, and water plummets down from the skies.
It’s a hell of a phenomena, really. If I were a mystic, I’d marvel in its existence. But instead, we’re comfortable in its appearance.
In fact, for many, the rain is anticipated, if not, welcomed. It brings serenity. It brings soothing sounds that become rhythmic in repetition, until it engulfs your surroundings with one solid noise. You hear it.
shhhhhhhhhhh
Each drop more impactful than the next. You have become so familiar with its patterns, you know what is to follow. The rolling thunder. The earth-shaking winds. They breed chaos.
That’s why you used to fear it. The established order has been disrupted, and your heart and adrenaline rushes out of uncertainty and misdirection. It is a whirlwind, feeding both darkness and calamity. Even in your reserve, you are drawn to it. It is intoxicating.
But then, the mayhem subsides, and the steady stream turns to drizzles and promise of clarity. The moment drifts into peace. You follow.
And you welcome its eventual return. Because no matter where you go, the rain will always be there.
As the rain is a guarantee. A force in which you seek both shelter from, and in. A truly beautiful, inspiring, wonder of the world.
Now imagine a day where what was once a guarantee becomes temperamental. A day where that which you found solace and tranquility in disappears.
A day where you lose the rain.
The most difficult part about losing the rain is losing the comfort you took in knowing it would always be there. You acknowledged your luck for having it, yet still took it for granted. You selfishly, and to your own peril, hoped the rain would be your answer to all you turned to it for; the validation of your aspirations, the secret sauce to solving the equation we call life.
That’s not fair to the rain.
For the rain, in its elegance and awesome nature, is not just beloved by many. It is needed. Sometimes, the rain must find its way to others, drifting across the plains like the Ghost of Tom Joad, offering resolve, consolation, and promises of a better tomorrow for others. That is one of its real superpowers.
Hope.
Through all of its tragedy, it will always offer triumph. And at some point, there will be someone who finds themselves fortunate enough to dance in the rain until their final breath.
But that very well may not be you.
If the question is, “who’ll stop the rain?” I retort: Why would you ever want to?
I only wish to feel it again one day.