There is contemplation in a gentle rain. Something about the raindrops causes quiet, a changed pace, a break in routine, an awakening to the world. This rain isn’t the deluge, the storm, the winds of worry – it is gentle in its gray nature. A softening of thought and heart.
Permission to reflect.
A photograph on such a day yields rich, bold colors with an exciting depth of field. Leaves glisten, droplets shimmer and move within the stillness of the image. The eye is drawn to the shadows, the details, the thought of the composition. Time is spent absorbing the potential of the image through the lens, slowly rotating, focusing, readjusting – until the image reflects the wetness of hair dampened by the moments lost to reflection, to the minuscule, to the beauty of subjects often overlooked.
In these moments fear slips away. Time doesn’t rush by. Expectations don’t mount up. Sounds meld together instead of competing for attention. Gently, the anticipation of introspection and mindful growth begins to rise.
I have been avoiding reflection.
In my heart of hearts, I have sensed a danger that protective walls will topple, thoughts will battle against sleep, imperfections will surface, and any potential growth will be cloaked colorlessly in black and stripped of surprise and life.
And what of loss?
All those losses. The ones that precede grief and growth and self-reflection. The losses that reflect the years passing by. The changes in body, in knowledge, in retrospection. The olding. The steps towards wisdom? The letting go of the smalls.
I had a cherry tree nook when I was younger. It had many wide, low, long branches that encouraged lounging and supplied safe hiding places, abundant leaves that picked up the slightest breeze, and resided directly beside my house. I remember the feel of the old sweatshirt that served as a pillow. The sharpness of the bark through my flower-power t-shirt. My bare feet against the trunk, toes gripping the bark to keep me balanced. There was silence here. The quiet of nature in a suburban setting. Stolen solitude that granted safety.
It was in this setting that I learned to trust rainy reflection. Did my thoughts bring the rain, did the rain urge my thoughts?
Then, as now, I knew/know, that rain reflection is necessary to self. Self-knowledge. Self-acceptance. Growth of self. Love of self. Recognition of all things unique to self. In that cherry tree I learned that I had absolutes. I had passions. I was an individual unique unto myself. That what I brought to the world was something that only I could bring to the world. Yes, I was wet – maybe even cold on those summer nights – but I was free to think, free to accept, free to believe that in me, there was something worth knowing – worth growing.
And today? As the words FINALLY flow after months of holding back. As the thoughts begin to open up on the page and fill me with the joy of knowing that I’m still here. Still strong. Still healthy of mind and ready. What of today?
Ready.
I wonder where next we are each led? Can you see your you? Can you reach out and touch the you that only you can be? Today I remember that I can. I not only know me – I am remembering more of me. All the stages of me. There is color, there are sounds, there is laughter, and anticipation.
The rain brings joy – and I quietly rejoice.
Welcome back.
wanderingoutinleftfield 