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Rain Writing

Please, come and stay.

By Griffen HelmPublished 9 months ago 3 min read
1

I’ll often stand beneath the rain. It feels like a soothing balm gently calming the torrent that often crashes through my life. I used to think of it as purifying, that it could wash away every harsh memory entrenched in the fibres of my being; but that was impossible.

Instead, I take it merely as is: an edgeless formless mass, softly and cooly trailing the rain dots' sweet mist patterns across my skin. I never expect the rain to visit; it's a mindset that strikes me randomly, the desire to be soaked, to be swaddled by the basics of nature. When I was a child one of the few times I would be excited to ever go outside was sporadic torrential rains; storms that would turn our streets into shallow rivers.

Now as an adult, I often never intentionally dive out into a storm, preferring to listen to that pittering cacophony rap against the window panes from within my warm apartment. But, often, the rain still finds a way to draw me out, rushing out from its hiding spot with no warning or slyly slinking away for minutes at a time before returning with a vengeance. At these times It’ll catch me outdoors, far away from home and shelter. I’ll usually be with my dog, in sandals and wearing the most bare of clothing. And usually, it’ll find me in some contemptuous cantankerous mindest fit only for Ebenezer Scrooge or Lex Luthor, only to softly - yet firmly- slap me out of the cavernous divulges of my brain and into the earthy smelling expanse of London's better half.

There I find myself hunkered beneath a tree, soaked to the soul alongside my dog, panting and smiling with the effort to find even this minor shelter. Much like the water, I feel my senses absorb my surroundings, the aforementioned earthy smell of the dirt struck from heaven. The samba dance of trees in the wind, the panicked and energetic faces of my fellow persons as they scurry to and fro from house to car or car to business.

It would be wrong to say I come alive in the rain, however, I do feel more alive in the rain; or, rather, stop to pause and look.

Just... really look, no thoughts just emotion.

And what I’ve found, truly, through that is that without the burdens of my life, the responsibilities, the insecurities, the past mistakes; I am genuinely happy. And that's an oftentimes disturbing thought to myself, with everything that's wrong with the world how and why do I get to sit back and enjoy what is coming to me? We humans sit at the forefront of technical innovation and yet we still dramatically lack in the social and spiritual aspects of our culture - Not organized religion get that out of my fun rain time-.We are as disconnected as ever from each other and ourselves; our exploits often lead to mass humans and other animals suffering for little to no gain for the individual. I know this and still feel like neither don’t know enough to fight it and yet I don’t do nearly enough currently to combat it.

But none of that matters to me in the rain; it doesn’t matter to me when I let the cool spring of tap water wash over my hands after a long day; it doesn’t matter to me when I close my eyes in a torrent of a lukewarm shower nozzle.

Rain cannot erase my mistakes, it cannot cleanse my sins, it is just water. A shamelessly unapologetic mass, formed into a shape or role we desire, before being let down the drain and returning to what it meant to be...

Nothing.

Life
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About the Creator

Griffen Helm

Griffen Helm; Writer of Things.

Fair Warning my work can be pretty violent, rude, lewd, and explicit; including themes of depression suicide, etc.

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