Rain gifts us an invitation to heal through our senses. Our shoulders, held high with unresolved fears. Drop a little lower. We imagine the raindrops as a shower of peace and tranquility. A watery embrace from another world. Enveloping our physicality.
The smell of rain conjures up feelings of a warm summer day when time seems to stand still. We soak in the suns presence through thirsty skin. Rain tastes like fresh ideas, rich with aliveness and hope, breathing in. Taking in all of life’s’ raingivings, we are brand new.
We may see the rain but do we really SEE the rain? Each drop, intentions pure, life giving gold. Falling with anonymity, for the greater good. The collective wet, gathering en mass. On the sidewalk, in a pond, on our body. Every liquid pearl connecting, melding, with selfless surrender. An invitation offered, to the present party. The Here and Wow.
We hear rain as a familiar tune. “All is well” hymn beckoning us to listen, intoxication inevitable. Steady rhythm, in likeness of Earths heartbeat. Tamping out all the wrong, the intrusive, disturbing buzz of life. We sit. We listen. We open to greatness only rain can stir.
Rain gifts us an invitation to heal through our senses. Our shoulders, held high with unresolved fears, may drop a little lower as we imagine the raindrops as a shower of peace and tranquility enveloping our physicality. The smell of rain conjures up feelings of a warm summer day when time seems to stand still as we soak in the suns presence on our thirsty skin.
Rain tastes like fresh ideas, rich with aliveness and hope, breathing in, taking in all life has to provide, we are brand new. We hear rain as a familiar tune, beckoning us to listen to its intoxicating message of “all is well”. We may see the rain but do we really SEE the rain? With our awareness on observing the watery veil that forms on our environment, we may accept or decline an invitation to be present, in the space between our thoughts.
OH on a Sunday morning. Warmed by the Spring sun, greeted by a worn out Winter smile. I aspire to relax into each hour. Making the most of the present moment. Recalling how I’ve crawled up the backside of a landfill to create space. Enough space in my life to let the warm sun IN to thaw my soul. Sunday restores the depleted/empty caverns carved by a less than satisfying week. A less than satisfying life. Our positive reserves may have run dry, our good intentions steam rolled.
Sunday’s are meant for replenishment, for celebration. Pregnant with possibilities, resetting intentions. We remember that everything works out, falls into place, everything. Clearing, cleansing minds for the coming week. Beginning anew. The privilege of a clean slate, a refresh. In deepest gratitude, Sunday.