Listening To Rain

We got a gully-washer last night, a real midwestern frog-strangler.

(‘Scuse my southern Iowa roots showing, I need to go see an heir dresser …)

(Sorry about that.)

(Won’t happen again.)

(Yes, it totally will.)

As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, we got some serious water-works happening in the wee hours, complete with brilliant lightning and some of the best thunder I have heard in quite a while. I left a shot of Suntori Toki Japanese Whisky out for Rainfather and apparently, offering accepted. Good to know. More where that came from, big fella.

I woke up around 12:30, because I heard … weathery stuff. The wind kicking up, big drops hitting the house, trees stage-whispering storm gossip, thundery rumbles in the distance, all the good stuff. I had to pee anyway, so I got up and after the necessary, I went out to the living room and opened the door to the deck so I could just sit in the comfy chair and watch and listen. I didn’t do anything else, just sat, silently except for a few interjections of “Ooh, nice one!” or “Wow, this is so amazing!” At one point I sighed and said I supposed I should shut the door and go back to bed, and there was some thunder of a particular pitch and quality that instantly translated in my head to, in Rainfather’s voice, “I can fuck all night.”

Oh yes, I totally know you can, dear Rainfather. I totally know it.

My yard was a sodden sponge. The creek had overflowed its banks halfway up to the house. The thunder and lightning were nearly non-stop. I couldn’t stop grinning like … I don’t even know what. Like a woman who has the undivided attention of a human she likes a lot. (And honestly, if Rainfather wasn’t 9 feet tall and immortally anthropomorphic, and I wasn’t married … ya know … he’s a handsome guy …)

Rain makes me feel … like a human animal living on the planet they evolved on.

I know, I know, obviously, I am a human animal living on the planet I evolved on, as are we all. It’s what being human means. Right. But … much of the time we forget to think about that, we forget that we’re part of a bigger system.

One thing about animism that really feels like home to me is the way animists think of everything as “People.” Trees are People. Rocks are People. Lakes and rivers are People. Flowers are People. Weeds are People. Sand is/are People. And weather systems are also People, with really big personalities. Last night was just such a system, very alive, very happy for an audience and eager to show off. I sat up observing until 2, when it finally started to settle down, and went back to bed and slept like a baby.

The more we connect to the People around us, the more we re-sacralize our essential humanimal nature. When we take the time to really listen to a storm, to really feel it and see it and get a little damp from it, taste it and smell it and get to know it, the more we reintegrate into the meshwork that connects all life together as one great mind. My little mind got blown open last night by how eager that storm was to communicate with me.

Earth-Mother wants to talk to us, wants to be in communion with us, this I know, deeply and with not a shred of doubt. Several years ago, a spirit of some kind in my backyard taught me a song one night, and I have remembered it and often sing it. A few weeks ago, I stepped out on the deck to hear the cicadas singing, and spontaneously started singing the song with the cicadas, in perfect rhythm and harmony – they were droning at exactly the pitch I needed to sing every note of the song in the most comfortable part of my range, and in perfect time that did not waver one iota – I could have sung all night. We sang together for a while, and it was absolute bliss and magic. And after a few rounds, I came to the end of the song and they went quiet, like they were honoring the common language of music with me. They knew exactly when to stop, and so did I. I bowed to them and they started singing another song, one I didn’t know. I listened until they stopped, and bowed again.

And eventually went to bed and slept like a baby.

Communion with our Mother, y’all, it’s a real thing. Get to know the rain. It’ll be a friend you’ll never regret making.

Shamanism R Us, here at SoundWorks. We would love to walk with you on this journey. Let’s keep in good touch. Go on and subscribe yer bad self and I’ll check in every Tuesday.