To Recreate the Rain

There was this moment and I turned off the sound to hear. The rain was coming down. The lights expanded and bled on the liquid carpet and everything slowed. The wipers were rhythmic and the water drops echoed abstract symphonic courses. I was drenched and yet dry. Atmosphere exploded and thickened only vaguely sated by leaking. Darkness was full of water that held a clarity and life. A relationship. H2O.

It was obvious the sky would burst. The blazing roar and prologue of the setting sun bathed in viscous colors of uncontrolled vibrancy had become browed by drab sheets of cloud, which only heightened intensity as it sifted a veil of mystery over the extravagance. Texture tattooed vision. The covering billowed and rose, the night began it's tide. A rain drop fell.

The earth drank and puddled like a gluttonous king strewn drunk across his banqueting table. Surfaces slicked and every movement splashed. The air was drown, and singing allowed. The torrents were untame, uncivil, and glorious. The vibration of the mood, the mellow soothe, the taste and aroma; my soul knew it was alive. We all were alive.

Life on The Rocks

If I could capture my angst maybe I would be free from it. The day is tired and I'm trying to hold on and see purpose but I feel like my coat is caught in the door of a Chevy and I'm being mercilessly whipped along. The veil coating my eyes has been lifted significantly. I glimpse eternity occasionally but I find it hard to remember the revelation, it seems to fade. I tell myself what is real, and I'm sure it is, I'm just struggling with why I can't see it. My core feels heavy and thirsty. Groaning and shifting, dreaming that I'm moving but I may be sleeping.

I think I'm on a cliff right now. And I think it's raining. The strain is dry though, and I feel unstretched, unmoving. Time can't just leak by, it's too valuable. I want to be comfortable. Let go of the jagged rock and fall into the meadow of empty contentment and complacency. Lie in the soft delusional grass until I melt into the dirt. But looking at the sky I see the clouds are moving like sand through an hourglass, things are exploding and time is not there to waste. There are enough mounds in the meadow and bones in the valley, and only a scattering who scale the escarpment or see the sky. I'm chasing glory, I'm chasing Him.

How do I describe what is running through my body, pulsing in my spirit, and rattling my humanity? Are we so lost, is it so desperate? I want to lie down a while and ignore the wind, yet the wind is my breath and where will I go without it. Into the dirt I suppose. I'm seeking light beyond the illumination, I think I see fire and I'm already burning. I can't scream and can't be still. I'm trying to breathe through the restless apathy.

I'm not depressed, nor defeated. I am struggling and aching, but I don't believe it's empty, I can't. It's refining, characterizing. It's diligence, longing, hope, pursuit, brilliance, destiny, vibration, grit, and love. I am preparing my mind for action, keeping sober in spirit, and desperately fixing my hope completely on the grace to be brought to me at the revelation of Jesus Christ (1 Peter 1:13). Hanging on this wall isn't forever; I taste glory. My foot finds a new hold, I feel his hand on my back, I sense his voice before me; it's worth it.

I will yet praise You, my God and my King, lover of my soul.