When it comes in great torrents, it's so easy to confuse the blessing of fresh water falling with a curse. But the rain, each drop, is only in and of itself intending to bless. Its volume, its timing, merely makes us confused. What it washes away, the attachment and appearance of things hoped for, longed for, worked for, these are the curse we place rain upon our own heads.
But am I brave enough to hang there, let this rain flood my life, erode those things not anchored too tight in the truth? I'm afraid. But what does that prove? If fear constantly won over creativity we'd still live in caves.
How fortunate to have employment to loose, how fortunate to have the love that might relocate, how fortunate is the healthy body sweating its way through 2 hours of yoga. Being is the blessing - its appearance, whether in him, her, it, or that, merely changes shape and appearance as it reflects our life. It will always find some new circumstance in which to manifest, should one get washed away. Life reflects being like the raindrop falling, always falling, to ground.
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