Brewing summer storms coming from the west, coming for days, but delaying arrival. It’s like we are living in a zit that just won’t pop. The air is thick and putrid; misery hovers; pain grabs onto the head and won’t let go; irritations multiply.
Like a cat watching its prey, the river lies low. Concentrated, steady, she braces herself for the promised storms.
Then suddenly, the sky turns black, thunders itself into thousands of pieces, and rain falls like a powerful new showerhead. The wind is violent. The river turns brown and rises quickly like a protective mother – raw, instinctive, and powerful. Speed describes her movement.
The storm move on to the south and the sun comes out, but the air is still thick. Mud, broken branches scattered like trash on open ground, lingering headaches, sticky skin, these are the residual effects of the summer storm. The river is settling, but rapid movement and brown color are the signs that tell me not to touch for the energy that brought forth her anger is not yet fully dissipated.
Emotional buttons were triggered and my blood boiled. It happened quickly like the sudden arrival of the black sky, but it wasn’t any surprise because the storm inside had been brewing for a long time. My heart had been thick and heavy like a growing blister. Crouched, stoic, concentrating on protection and survival, I had been on guard. In that position, I looked like the river before the storm – calm and peaceful. By all appearances, I looked like I was weathering disappointments and irritations very well.
But when the sky turned black and the winds lashed at my hair, my pen flew out of my hand and the pages of my book were ripped and shredded. I too, turned brown and spilled over my boundaries. Cold, raging surface and boiling blood below clashed in my being and I spun out of control.
Today I feel the sun on my skin and I can feel it penetrate into my heart, but the debris of the storm remains. The energy of the anger has not yet fully dissipated.
The spongy earth beside the river is not inviting me to sit close to her. Likewise, I too must demand my own time and distance from the frolicking ease of summertime joys. I will invite the hugs when the land at my banks is dry and solid enough to hold the weight of others.
When I wade into the safe waters of the river, you will know that you are invited to join me, and then I will hug you.