I want to start by saying this thought… “the storm of life isn’t over; it never is, But the rain has at least stopped.”

Things get shaken up, trees buckle and break under the wind, homes washed away by waves of water and words, and in the downfall, people react. Arson via Action. Whether it’s others or ourselves, nobody comes out unchanged nor with clean hands.

Things are shaken in the inevitable earthquakes, our faults exposed, and the surroundings are collapsed and wrecked to be rebuilt. The rain, a constant washing in the reminder of the here and now, the feeling of saturation on the soul and skin, the smell of fresh dust and distrust overwhelming the senses. Almost forgettable compared to the calamity, yet one only realizes how much there is to relish in the silence after the tinnitus has gone. A dreamlike state akin to the final memory before a dementia sufferer destruction, a blissful…nothing. The rain stops, the air cleansed from all of history’s maroon stains. How one feels their chains crack and break like brittle, the first step covering kilometers of conscious recovery. The cloud cover being cut by a shimmer of light. Not a brisk, brash flash of lightning, a warm, welcoming glow of sunshine. One sees the clouds still, the rubble and ruin of a mind left behind by the vicious violence of life’s vision, but nothing is permanent. Nothing lasts, and while one can find great disparity in that, one can find incredible peace and rest in it as well. The winds always blow, the clouds always float by, and while nothing is left unchanged afterwards, nothing is truly destroyed. Minutes are minutes, hours are hours, days are days… time is a constant, one to count on, so one would be wise to watch the clock when all else is turbulent. Things desire to return to their own chaotic, unpredictable sense of normal, but it’s normal none the less. One will rebuild a home, a life, one’s self, and one will rebuild themselves much better equipped for the next storm so that when the rain comes, they’re covered.