Wild Rain Moon

I named her the rain moon because when she rose into the warm night sky, gusts of wild wind came with her. She quickly pulled on a gown of thick dark grey clouds. The wind whipped trees danced violently. Their branches bent downward to kiss the earth, and then swept upward to the honour the heavens, with only the strength of their spirit holding them together. Then the lightning came, deep shards of cold fire that slashed across the clouds. And then, the rain…

Real rain, wild rain

Yet soothing, like a soft and cool shower of dreams pouring from the dark night

The blessing that we’d been praying for

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to stand in the blustery shadows of mystery just moments before a storm. I’d forgotten what it was like to fall asleep to its pitter patter lullaby and to wake up to the gentle rumble of thunder.

Dear rain moon, a lot more is needed and although it may be days before the next shower comes, I am grateful for the blessing of a tiny answered prayer.

rainy-window

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When the Rain Came

The air smelled of clouds and dust. Then the rain came. First, in spurts of light afternoon showers and then thunder showers are night.

I did what I love to do most. I sat by the window and watched it fall, and my writing flowed better than it has in a while. For the first time in weeks, the breeze was a cool cloak of comfort and rain drops fell through the open window and splattered on my back. The parts of me that had been parched and bare from the desert wave began to drink in the rain’s medicine. It’s as if I’ve had a pen full of dry powder and sand, unable to turn words out onto paper. Now, rain has fallen and turned the sand into ink, so that finally my hand can flow. It’s somewhat of an alchemical phenomenon, because it seems to turn the lead of my creative soul into inspired fluid gold.

I’ve never imagined myself as a river, but perhaps in some way, that is what I am, because these showers have made me feel like a river that is flowing again. I can see more clearly now why some women have written of finding the river within. Clarissa Pinkola Estes speaks of the Rio Abajo Rio, the river beneath the river, when she described the wild soul or creative instinctual life force carried with the feminine psyche. Abby Seixas spoke of it in Finding the Deep River Within too, where she wrote: “When I drop down or go inside, I often have the image of an underground river that is always there, always flowing through me, from a source beyond me, carrying deeply nourishing, life-giving qualities.”

This must be what the watery magic imbued rain awakens within me, drawing fragments of my feminine psyche to the surface so that I become aware of my underground river filling, my creative resources flowing and my wild essence unfurling.

How do you connect with your rio abajo rio? Do the elements and whispers of the Earth ever stir something in this deep and mysterious place?

wild rain