It is the rainy season in my corner of the world, and as midsummer approaches I’m finding myself feeling not so much quickened and sparkly with solar energies as I am lethargic and clumsy with slowness, wanting to curl up on my comfy couch alone in my darkened room blissing to the sweet soft cotton candy of 70s pop music.
I am out of step with the quick cadences around me, watching the world from afar – still – as people cluster and congregate and celebrate in reunions with families and friends. I’m not just reluctant to leave my cocoon; I don’t remember how to.
I step outside into a sodden atmosphere so thick with moisture I hardly need to exert my own will to stand upright—the hot and sticky sultriness of the air will hold me up just fine, thank you. And every afternoon, rain, tippy-tapping into yesterday’s puddles, cascading from the edge of the roof to smack and slap into the courtyard like a full-bore firehose aimed at a tenacious fire.
As we tilt toward the longest day, I find myself thinking about balance and wondering if my metaphysical fulcrum has shifted. I’ve always experienced balance as a percolating energy-filled active state of constant micro-adjustments being made to maintain my mental, emotional, and spiritual equilibrium. But now I simply feel dull and stupid, like I have been encased in clay that, once it dries and hardens, will leave me forever at one remove from the loveliness that I know is in the world.
Yet, just as I have trust in our Mother Earth and her cycles, I know that where I am now is simply a point in my own ever revolving, always evolving cycle. In due course I will rediscover the will to exert my intent and renew my still-slumbrous energies. Perhaps that day will be Midsummer. Perhaps that day will come in its own time. Whenever it comes, come it will, and eventually I will be refilled with more than enough energy to spill out and nurture the meadows I will someday find myself in.
Nurture them like rain.