Monday, September 5, 2011
If dreams were lightning...
Just saying, I will never weary of John Prine. Hope the same is true for you.
Following the morning of The Snap (see previous post), Sunday arrived with clouds and rounded out the late afternoon with a bruise-colored sky, thunder and lightning.
Los Angeles can go, I have no doubt, years without a thunder storm. This one was strange for having given forecasters the slip, for arriving in early September and stranger still for being dry. When the pyrotechnics were over and it was fully dark, then we had some rain.
Not every dark cloud that drifts across my sun is invited to these posts. It is just not my way. Those are not, or not yet, the stories I come here to tell. It was synchronicity, as I understand it, being true to itself that sent discordant. curious, anomalous weather, big and loud, breezy and chilly enough for me to notice so I could write about order displaced. Maybe someone has a quote somewhere that tells us, when saying what is true is too alarming, write about the unpredictability of nature.
Worry is time and energy ill-spent; it makes us sick and that is all it accomplishes. Every day I peel worry off like nail polish, which I really cannot wear without becoming a 10-year-old but that doesn't keep me from stockpiling it in the make-up drawer. I might mature.
Worry used seem like a tattoo, a spreading birthmark from which I thought I'd never be free. Some things, when practiced, become easier. If I can unlearn worry, perhaps one day I will play a stringed instrument, a ukelele if not a mandolin. Impossible things happen.
I will pay attention when weather speaks to me, trusting it has just offered itself to stand it for truths that still seem beyond my reach or capability. Or it may be the tool for augering, hinting at favorable outcomes or reminding me that sometimes a cloud is just a cloud.