“After the Storm”  Acrylic  (unfinished)

 

The booming crash of thunder could be heard through the nightmare I was navigating last night.  I have dreams that could be movies.  Last night was in the horror genre.   The lightning seen through my eyelids was in the dream too.  I woke myself up when to watch another moment would have been too grisly.  Heart racing, I sat up to another flash and counted until the thunder crashed.  Three seconds.  So loud and threatening, the storm insisted on keeping my attention.  When you feel threatened, whether physically or mentally, the mind has two choices.  Panic or process.

I haven’t been in storms like others I know.  My sister was stationed in Guam and the typhoons there were life-threatening.  At least that is how she described them.  Clinging to her husband and six children, waiting for her home to be dashed to pieces, she prayed for God’s mercy.  My sister actually thinks she deserves “spankings” from God.  She is an angel walking among men.  I’ve never known anyone more worthy of Heaven than my younger sister.  Anyway, storms are not in my personal collection of life-long memories.  Earthquakes have been memorable, but storms, not so much.

Last night’s storm might have stationed itself as a “story” in my life.  You know, the kind of thing that you share with others repeatedly as a significant life experience.  I’m not a good sleeper, so I had already woken up a few times before the storm reached our valley.  I had even been outside around 2am rescuing an upset hen.  The panicked squawking of one of our chickens had woken me up from a restless sleep.  She had actually turned out to be the spokesperson for her side of our duplex coop.  Her eight sisters were all roosting but awake while she squawked like a snake was underfoot.

I ran out with my flashlight, being very noisy, hoping not to meet a bobcat or mountain lion.  I looked under the two coops and only found a gopher hole (or maybe a snake hole?), but the real problem was soon evident.  The water trough was dry.  Filling a water tank in the dead of night from a ground level spigot while holding a flashlight in one hand can be a little tricky.  All the hens on the side in distress had hopped down from their roosting branches squawking nervously while the five hens in the coop on the other side watched with mild interest.  When I repositioned the full tank in their coop, all nine thirsty birds were on that water like children when a piñata breaks.  I walked away a little muddy, but satisfied, and first noticed the distant rumble of thunder.  We don’t have many storms where I live, so the idea of one is like a Hollywood trailer.  You can’t wait until the movie comes out.

By the time I washed my hands, removed my soiled gown, and tucked myself in bed, I could hear the storm getting closer.  I fell back to sleep.  From my nightmare, my mind was already in high gear when I woke again.  My room lit up from the skylights on the ceiling.  I began to count… and BOOOM!”  Three miles away?  Loud, angry rumbles made me feel alone and just a little bit scared.  Sometimes the thunder came ten seconds out, other times almost immediately after the flash of lightning.  It was almost like two storms were passing.  One clash of thunder was so loud it could have been artillery fire.  That one did scare me.  The rain started falling, first lightly, then big, heavy drops like hail on the roof.  Then, I remembered the skylight was open in the living room.

Walking around the house, I realized the three kids at home with me (some were away) had been up listening in wonder to the awesome rage of the sky too.  We all talked about it.  The blinding flashes, the house-shaking thunder, and the admissions that none of us had ever seen anything like it.  It was a comfortable camaraderie.  Your kids become your friends when everyone is grateful that everyone feels the same way about something.  Nobody is wiser, or stronger, or more experienced, but all share the same newness of discovery.  When awareness is one among many fear falls away.  The magnitude of God and the oneness of us all can be felt through a storm.

Nature’s rages can appear more devastating than the storms that gather and darken in the minds of man.  Man in a generic sense, of course.  You have to wonder how many of us walk the earth without peace in our hearts and minds.  Far more than those killed or injured by inclement weather, I imagine.  Storms pass and dawns break into calm and quiet days, but few minds are kept in check.  Walking through storms knowing they end is a brief lesson in spiritual enlightenment.  I get more caught up in my own head than debris in a tornado.  What makes it so frustrating is that it’s so easily turned off, that rush of panic or fear.  Instead, we choose to allow our mind to whirl around, tossed to and fro for the sake of the impact we claim we don’t want.

We love the storm.  Nothing stops us from a peaceful flow through this stormy life except our denial that the victory is already won.  We make the storm our excuse to fear.  We would rather take on the storm to prove a point I guess…  To tell ourselves we are the victim of the chaos.  The point is the storm wins.  Every time.  And we are left feeling scared, alone and incompetent.  There is no comfort when that storm rages.  You can’t step back because fear and doubt are like a shadow following you.  You have to believe in peace and the unity of creation.  Deliverance, victory and courage are within at any moment.  The excitement I felt during last night’s storm can be the same feeling I have when I blaze my own trail.  Not everyone appreciates it, but the storm will pass, and the change is good.