Silver Light of a Passing Storm

The rain gauge leans heavily in a pool of standing water. Two inches of sky have fallen into it since yesterday.

At one o'clock this morning I woke to the thrum of a million water horses galloping across our roof. Sheets of water resurrected from the Pacific rolled by our bedroom window in the darkness.

I lay there recalling
a poignant moment yesterday.
It was a simple and ordinary moment.
It was a moment like this one,
where I happened to wake up.

I was standing on the greyscale prairie of a Fred Meyer parking lot after grocery shopping. My wife was patiently waiting for me in the car. I stood behind the taillights transfixed by the steely clouds rushing through a labyrinth of sun shafts. The storm that had been turning within me and around me had suddenly dissipated. The concerns about the kids, the bills, the leaking roof were washed away.

All around me people were going about their day, pushing clanking shopping carts, or edging into line at the stop sign. The people were going about their ordinary business. Most seemed to be lost in their thoughts or were rushing to get home.

For a moment I raised my arms wide. Swollen raindrops meandered across my open face. The cold golden sun stroked my hair.

I thought:

"How beautiful.

How exquisite this experience

of breath and sight and rain upon the skin."

All the previous morning I had prayed to Creator for release of my attachment and sadness about my island land being sold. I've been trying to let go of a central story about my life that no longer supports me. All that morning I'd stood beside my resistance with a voice that praised a hundred possibilities (and challenges) now open to me.

The prayer of release later rose through my body to meet the sky in a Fred Meyer parking lot. The simple experience left me quiet and awed on the drive home.

This morning the roof still leaks. The bills are still being addressed. And the kids still struggle with their anger and hurt. Yet I recall the moments in the pause between storms. I remember the living power of the storm itself.

These are moments worthy of being seen,
worthy of being praised.

Blessing to You in the pause between storms.

Blessings to You in the silver light of the clouds.

Blessings to You in golden gaze of the sun reflecting your face.

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(c) Rick Sievers, 2010, All Rights Reserved.