Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The weather predicts me
A big ole weather front is passing through Washington DC even as I type this. It's a huge storm with "embedded areas of heavy rain." Lightning, thunder, even the possibility of an isolated tornado or two are in the forecast. By 10:00 a.m. it'll all be over, or so the meteorologists say.
I pay attention to the weather. There are practical reasons for this (not that most folks in modern society acknowledge the power of the weather over we puny humans). I grew up in the American midwest; I tilt, whenever possible, towards common sense - so - when a big storm passes through, I take shelter. Duh.
As a shaman, I'm also very interested in the esoteric, symbolic ways in which weather can be interpreted. According to the cosmology of Reya, the world is an ongoing, 24/7, three-dimensional divination. If I dance in alignment with (for instance) the rain, sunshine, clouds, clear skies, Brother Wind and so forth, there's a possibility I can glean wisdom, maybe even grace, from that alignment. Weather is the emotional body of the earth. As a citizen of this beautiful planet, it seems respectful to pay attention. Ya know?
Hence, instead of heading out to the Holocaust Museum library (as I had planned to do), I'm going to stay in this morning, make a pear coffee cake, drink tea, read blogs. I will watch and listen to the rain, thunder. I will give thanks for the sweet shelter of the chateau, I will marvel at the power of the weather to bring me to my knees, or lift me up into moments of transcendence.
The timing of this storm is significant. Even though I have a passion for the ancestors who passed away during the Holocaust, it is perhaps best to re-enter this enthusiasm slowly, a little bit at a time. I don't have to throw myself head-first into the picture archives at the Holocaust Museum, an experience that will no doubt be wrenching. It certainly was last time I was there. So do I need to straightaway toss myself into the deep end emotionally? Do I? No, I do not.
Go gently, Reya, says the fierce storm. Go gently. Thanks, Mr. Fierce Storm! I'm listening.