A rain storm just came blowing in – and it did blow in. A giant gust of wind -- quite suddenly and furiously -- whipped up against our house. It blew the neighbor’s wind chimes into a state of utter agitation, slammed doors in rooms where I’d left windows open, startled Summer (who was only half asleep), and carried a short but intense storm in its blustery little arms.
For a bit, rain pounded hard against the windows and lightning lit up the sky. I soothed Summer then sat in the quiet kitchen with a cup of cocoa – listening and watching. And also thinking.
I was thinking about life; and stages; experiences and time. Trials that threaten to keep me half holding my heart inside my chest while I wait to see if they’ll resolve in this life time. Joys so perfect that the thought of them slipping by is too painful to contemplate – even as time compensates me with constant new joys.
And yet, I also felt that same unexplainable certainty that I’ve felt before: a bit of something that sits just beyond what my mortal mind can currently comprehend but still feels . . . strong and powerful and real: a part of something I know but can’t quite pull fully to recollection.
It’s the same feeling I have when I wake to bits and pieces of a dream and am just about to grab ahold of the rest when some door shuts and I only know . . . it was there; is still there, really -- if I could just pry open that door. Or, when my mind tries to recall something from my biochemistry or physiology days. “I know I understood this before . . . but . . . what were the details? And how did it actually work again?”
It feels so close to known and yet . . . just beyond what I can firmly grasp.
It’s the something that tells me no season is truly gone. No experience ever beyond my reach. The something that says my mortal perceptions of time and endings aren’t reality; that reassures me that everything I’ve ever experienced, everything I’ve ever loved, and every joy I’ve ever known is more intimately mine, and real, and waiting just beyond closed doors than the present me – bound by time and limits and perceptions – can comprehend.
It’s the reassuring feeling that nothing has ever been lost. And all I’ve ever done – through an eternity of existing and experiencing is . . . gain.