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Waiting for the Rain

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Storms are magnificent. They are clouds slowly churning together to create something more. They brew together, united to create one thing: rain.

Rain, a key created to unchain us from our warped realities, takes our minds in its cold, cleansing arms and shows us the true world we live in. The clothes we are wearing, what our friends could be doing, what other people might be thinking - those are all superficial thoughts. The rain knows that those are insignificant superficialities compared to the nature, love, and people that surround us all. Rain wipes those useless thoughts away drop by drop.

Rain is rational yet magical. We know that rain will always come to cleanse us as long as water evaporates, condenses, and falls down on Earth. Yet if you’ve ever been in a thunderstorm, watching bolts of lightning carve out the dark sky, jumping from surprise at every burst of thunder, you understand what I mean when I say rain is powerful. I believe that even through its overwhelming power, rain strives to use its strength to clarify our thoughts and purge our minds. When we let the rain enter our hearts, it grabs our worries and wrenches them into its deep currents, until, like a water fall, it crushes our fears. And just as life is not fair, sometimes water does not evaporate fast enough and we must wait for the rain.

We have all had those blue days where we sit and doubt ourselves. On such days we wonder if we are really being the best we can be. We wonder and compare ourselves to others, and slowly, on those days we downgrade ourselves. We become in our minds tiny particles of dust, clinging onto desks or chairs, refusing to disappear. We believe ourselves to be nuisances to the world. Yet on those blue days our strife to live does not waver - it just becomes clouded with fears. And on those days, all I hope for is a little bit of rain.

I remember one year when the clouds refused to give us rain. They came and soared around the skies in all colors, from pure whites to menacing grays. They came again and again, yet it never rained. This pattern continued for what seemed to be an eternity to a twelve year old child. But one September day the clouds came, and on that day it rained.

That day was one of those blue days. I walked around to my classes like a robot, doing my duty of accomplishing everything as programmed. I did not notice the crimson leaves gently cascading to the ground nor the gloriously gray clouds looming above my head that afternoon. But suddenly a drop fell on my nose; I looked up to the sky and felt the rain drop down on me, drenching me little by little. Yet I did not feel it in my heart. I stood there desperately reaching towards the rain, frantically trying to let it free me. But it did not, so I continued my walk to piano class and continued to await my liberation.

The same thing had happened to me before. Rain is not always magical; sometimes I can stand in the rain for hours but still not be freed. The rain only frees us when our minds and hearts are completely open and we accept to open ourselves to the rain. But sometimes I did doubt in the rain. I wondered if the rain’s magic was just created from the imagination of children or if it was real. But as I stepped outside into the rain one final time before leaving for English class, I felt its pure power around me. I felt the magic and all doubts that ever clouded my mind about the rain’s magic disappear. I looked up, and the world seemed to have frozen in place, except for the rain. I saw no one; I heard nothing but the rain. I stood there and lifted my arms over my head, reaching toward the universe, the sky, the rain, and I let everything go. I kissed goodbye to time, to my fears, my thoughts and entrusted them all to the rain. I enabled it to guide me, penetrate me, and purify me. I opened the doors of my heart and welcomed it inside; it came and set me free. And I came back, back to the “real” world, enlightened and freed. I believe in the magic of rain.



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