Once there was a little girl. She loved playing in the rain. You know, every other weather was appreciated too, but shinning up a tree seemed fun only if its crown provided a nice viewpoint to observe the majesty of God, throwing the lightnings all over the withered fields, and bathing in the lake was never as delightful as when the cold rain lashed and only the warm area of the lake gave pleasurable sanctuary. Rain boots were number one item of shoe wear. Whenever it started pouring, she turned deaf to the screams of her mom yelling that she was going to get pneumonia. She adored the sound of umbrellas unfurling and their dancing as people moved awkwardly along the sidewalk, although she never carried one with her, feeling that she was above that.
It was about letting the rain soak down to her bones. Not literally, but she felt as if the rain was on its way. She loved the feeling that she could be in the center of the storm.
The little girl thought nobody should care if she had a name, a family, a blood type. She didn't even remember she had one of those. But maybe there were no thoughts at all, no impressions, no observations. I can't even tell if there were any actual feelings involved. It just seemed like a very abstruse sense of being. I would say the little read-headed girl experienced very abstruse senses of being quite often. She did not see any problem in this practice. Being consumed by whatever kind of feeling was a new life, not a scene in a play that consisted of several intertwined stories. Here each story was a story of today. The girl wasn't experiencing sadness but she seemed to had become it. The girl wasn't stratifying her feelings. There was just one timeline. One life each day.
Last week it rained a lot. I would be perfectly happy just to happen to be in the neighborhood and pop in to check out my work training, being in this one timeline, detached, not having situations to fix.
I did look at the raindrops. They reminded me of something. I don't think it was a feeling, or an impression, or a thought. It was more like a fashion of being, very abstruse and complicated in one's attempts to understand how it works, but gosh, so simple to live. I tried to let this be me. Let the rain be me. Let me be overwhelmed by the wonder of it all.
But all I'm overwhelmed by is the glut of life. One life. And it's not the life of today, but of all the days. That's why I cannot get into one timeline of being, cannot be someone else, or maybe just a different me. If I were to meet the little girl again, today I would see the Sunday girl. And tomorrow the Monday girl. But if she chose so she could also be the Thursday girl tomorrow. That wouldn't be a problem.
I can't say what actual difference there is between us. Is it all the standardized testing I've done, 'adult' hormones in my blood or an ID that allows me to drink legally? Bills? Tax forms? What I know is that I can't afford to be in the center of the storm like that's all there is. And that's why I can only watch it rain. Nothing beyond that.
Song of the day: Never Play - Emily and the Woods
Verse of the day: To the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” John 8: 31-32