Sunday consisted of balmy breezes and scattered clouds hoisted above the hot earth.
The day was spent journaling, meditating, writing, and peering into the intricacies of spirituality through the spoken stories of my fellow earthlings. A weekend spent mostly in solitude warranted a long run along the bluffs with dark shadows trailing far behind.
The meteorologist forecasts thunderstorms at precisely 3 pm. So, naturally, I don my running gear and lock the door to our apartment. Not more than a moment after stepping foot onto the asphalt, a crack of thunder sends radiating chills down my arms.
I peer up towards the gray mass as raindrops begin to form and penetrate the ground, my skin, and anything else in its path. Individual drops transform into an excruciating assemblage of water streaming from the sky, like a tidal wave of tears shed by Pachamama for the loss of all things pure.
I stand in the doorway and watch the rain come down so damn heavy. I watch the torrential downpour form little ponds in the parking lot. Like a flash flood, the water loudly caresses the curves of the universe as the thunder roars above me. I watch this earth be cleansed by rain for 30 minutes, clutching my heart with one hand all the time. The power and beauty of the water melt my soul into a thousand drops of dew.
The clouds pass without fuss and the sky turns a radiant shade of blue. I can’t fathom how fitting this rush of energy has come, bringing destruction yet carrying life along its many forms. A man with caramel skin and wild hair approaches me with dazzled eyes. I tell him I’ve been standing here this whole time. Watching.
I end up going on that run to the beach. Like a child exploring uncharted territory, every component of the world feels new to me. The fragrance of plants and earth after a heavy rain is so distinct, I laugh as I slide through the muddy grass and stop to look over the cliffs at the sea. The sulfuric stench of the ocean has subsided and the bugs and birds begin to creep out of their dwelling. The colors of the world are muted but intense.
I run to a spot on the beach where no one is and dip my toes into the frigid waters. I can see where the storm is heading down the coast while sunlight gushes through the breakages in the clouds. Thunderstorms are just like that in the end.
Sunday was nothing short of magic. In those moments, I felt so small but also like an elemental cog in the persistence of water. Each time I tell this story it conjures up new memories and insights. Like magic, like love, like endless time and souls sewn back together. But in reality, I have no other words to describe how any of this feels.