Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This....

This morning, we woke up to rain. I couldn't wait to get up, make a cup of tea and crawl right back into bed to listen for a while. Right outside my bedroom is wisteria. The aroma crept quietly in the open window.

For twenty minutes or half an hour, life was perfect.

I love rain. Absolutely love it! The sound of it, the smell of it, the color of the sky ~ and I love walking in it. It's a cool rain here this morning. At times it's rather heavy but mostly it's gentle.

One morning a long time ago, I took off for a walk. Dawn was perhaps an hour away. I was staying with my friend, R., and I could see that he was still asleep in his room. The rain was falling gently on the roof. After making a cup of tea as quietly as possible so as to not wake him, I poured it into a commuter cup and stepped outside to the balcony. The rain was warm. The scent of the rain on the plants and flowers surrounding his house was indescribable. To this day, I don't have the words.

The world was quiet. A few people meandered around but it might as well have been just the few of us, alone on the planet. There was a little path near R's house that I liked so much. It was lush and rich with frangipani. It was narrow. I imagined what it must have been like for the original humans, millions of years ago.

The rain got heavier. It pounded on the leaves. Within ten minutes, the wind came. It caused the flowers to sway back and forth. Some leaves fell. In the distance, I could hear frogs croaking. krawwwk krawk. In the far distance, a rooster. Morning was coming.

I continued along. Soon, my hair was drenched. My clothes were drenched. The water poured off my hands as I lifted the cup of tea to my mouth. My shoes were drenched as I walked in the puddles.

With the downpour, my past washed away into the Southeast Asian soil that so willingly accepted and embraced me. My feet took root and I breathed the air of home. The world seemed to shift on its axis. All that was wrong was made right. I continued walking and smiled at nothing ~ and everything.

And, oh yes, I remember the past. I can still draw lessons from it. Sometimes I even feel it. Sometimes it creeps into my consciousness like a malevolent poltergeist. But it rarely stays long enough to rattle its chains in the closet. No ghost can haunt us when we know where we belong.


Peace,


~Chani