LET IT
“All living things would fade and die from too much light or too much dark, if twilight were not,” wrote Howard Thurman. He preceded this with the idea that twilight is “a time of pause when nature changes her guard.”
Longfellow wrote in a parallel stream of thought, “The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.” As if we could stop it. We might as well enjoy her water, the coolness she brings, the cleansing and nourishment accompanying her. She may ruin our plans but simultaneously save our lives. As long as she doesn’t bring too much water, she may give us everything we need to water the garden of our soul.
Recently, I’ve been pondering liminal space: the suspended in-between that holds joy and pain, assuredness and uncertainty, peace and disintegration, where you've been and where you're going physically, emotionally, or spiritually.
Thurman may help those in this space. It is a time of pause, a time when nature is changing her guard. It’s hard to plan a day when it might rain, no matter how prepared you think you are. Rain will bring her currents, and sometimes, you have to let those currents carry you as you’re being borne along.
Life is not always predictable. Mine has not been. Much, if not most, of it is lived in the transitional twilight that gives just enough light for the next step: not too much, not too little.
When we open ourselves up to the Goodness of the present, the “sacrament of the Present” in the language of Jean-Pierre de Caussade, I trust we will find grace in it. But, if we faithlessly discard situation after situation, moment after moment, as not being ‘right,’ we will simply have no place to receive his kingdom into our life. (Dallas Willard)
Yesterday, while walking into our office, I saw my friend. Her smile and kind eyes greeted me before her words. I asked her the general question, “How’s life?” She responded, “shitty.” But her smile and gentle spirit did not leave her, nor did the kindness in her eyes. I knew then that the moment was holy. Whenever we can hold radical hospitality for the present moment, we sanctify it. This is neither optimism nor a therapeutic ruse, it’s not even re-framing. It is simply an honest view, clear-eyed through tears perhaps, that somehow there is space for it all. Maybe it’s an awakening to the Reality (God) that can hold these things together.
“When I can’t say ‘All is well,’ I rest in “All is held.” - Felicia Murrell.
So, let it rain.
We would die from too much rain. Yes. And we would also die from too little.
Peace
Here’s a rain storm that I recorded on the back porch last week. The first version is the storm itself. The second version is the thunderstorm with some ambient music I scored over it; a kind of dreamy, spacial rendition of songs that came to me while I was playing.