What a fantastic and fragile thing life is. Life is fluidity and it is fleeting, an exchange between flowing, spontaneous turning roads and their upcoming abrupt dead ends. Each word we speak is like a drop of water falling from a forever growing stalactite, and every new experience alters the properties of our fluids, whether it be speed, shape, size, form, color; whatever. We begin life as a combination of our parent’s fluids (metaphorically and literally), and what a highly volatile and adventurous fluid we are. We adore the feeling of our fluidity running through unexplored crannies, finding heat to bubble us up and sheer cold to simmer us down. The sweet feeling of letting oneself flow, resisting any resistance and discovering what lies beyond our reach. To blow as a mist over foggy mountains, to crush and wave through gigantic bodies of water, coursing through reefs and rubble, until becoming frothy foam about its edges. Finding a rain with the right downfall and direction, finding the puddles worth splashing in. This is splendor to me, displacing myself about until I find the shapes and colors to make myself a fluid I love. However, the reality of life doesn’t end here. Fluid, in its spontaneity, doesn’t always flow happily. Sometimes we falter and spill down drains into dark sewers, mixing and diffusing with the others, forming a foul murky river, losing ourselves in muck and sludge as we and other fallen fluids continue on to be filtered and drained of all impurities and special traits. Sometimes, the paths we take go shallow sooner than we’d expect, and we find ourselves lost. The stream we so faithfully continued down has become a mere dent in the Earth, and we feel alone, without direction. And sometimes, we fall with the rain and exist as a beautiful fluid, spilling into billions of pieces creating oneness, each sparkling with light refracting through its curvature, forming reflective waving puddles. We find an experience of trust falling incessantly into the embrace of Earth, which feels entirely serene and overwhelmingly lovely. As can happen with rain, so quickly, it’s over. Just as soon as they came, the clouds pull and split away, breaking sunlight which blasts the watery ground as the cumulus drift away to other regions. Torrents of downpour resume periodically, and some learn to appreciate each rain, but some of us remain desperate, clamoring to run outside with buckets and pans, trying to salvage that state of fluid, which is fallacious as rain will never stop moving. We get caught up in it, the short but powerful packages of beauty that tie us up in temporary knots, ignoring the harsh reality that this, as all others, is fleeting. The shower won’t ever continue once it stops. At least, not the same one. So, when I watch the rain, I take a lesson. I see a reality in plain sight, that each rain is fleeting. Rains can be short or incredibly long, and there isn’t a raindance that can bring the same one back down. You may experience lame short showers and gorgeous, spectacular rainfalls, and there’s no indication you’ll experience either ever again. But, one can hope.
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