THUNDERSTORM

What a privilege, to live on a mountainside above a large Lake and from up here behold the majestic processions of summer storms from across the glassy water on sweltering afternoons like this one, when in the timeless karmic way this is now the place for balancing the weather--

We all know and love the beauty, the power, the spirit-magic of thunderstorms-- how reminding they are, how kin to our own deep feelings, the dark and the light in ourselves, the sturm und drang of existing, the torrents of our passions, the lightning-- we relate. Since the dawn of our story we've had the same fiery flux in all our lives.

So arise those great columns of cloud-- white softnesses tumbling upward into gold at the top of the sky; then a silver mist reaches down to the calm surface of darkening water as the brush of the rain begins to write-- the sounds around you deepen, the air itself thickens and closes in; movement is large, though you remain still, as nearer and nearer in flashes and roars is told the long poem of the rain...