Down from the Mountains Cold

 

I don’t much like this rain. Which is a silly thing to say, considering California has been in a drought since, oh, roughly the Paleolithic era.

What makes it worse is I know I should be nothing but grateful. We so desperately need water.

So why this resentment? Why the certainty that this gift will be delivered with bludgeoning force? A solid wall of rain, come down from the mountains cold. (1)

“Shelter in place order,“ the emergency alert warns. “Potential life-threatening flooding and debris flows in the Alisal Fire burn area. Stay inside. Go to innermost room or higher ground.”

Congratulations on having just survived the massive out-of-control wildfire!

Now, stay out of the way because the mud is coming.

*****

I’ve always thought that Gaia must be the most amazing archangel of all. Here she is, taking on the body of this humongous entity, this Earth, and benevolently providing shelter and sustenance to humanity and the multitudinous other life forms the planet supports.

What a tall order. I wonder if she knew how insidiously humans (and nonhumans) were going to mess things up on her rich earthen skin and in her mysterious magma and crystal depths? Did she know the poison that would be strewn through her cloud-feathered airways of blue?

Brave angel.

If flooding after a fire is the only way she can provide us with rainwater within the weather manipulation systems that have been laid over her like a smothering grid, it’s churlish of me to complain.

*****

Watching the rain spatter on the pavement and gather ominously in the street gutters, I send a little thought to Gaia. 

Hello! Thank you so much for this water. If you would be so kind, could you ask your earth to hold itself together in the burn scar?

Immediately, an unexpected peace and a sense of expansiveness land lightly on me. I take a spontaneous, calmly deep breath. I know that Gaia is not worried.

I felt certain that the rain knew what it was doing. And the earth, whether it stays put or gathers into a slurry mass and rushes down canyons to flow over the 101, cars and trucks and all—the earth, too, knows what it’s doing.

It’s only us humans who bring worry with us like a suitcase we can’t leave behind, worry that shivers the natural order of serenity which underpins even calamity. 

We have been well schooled in fear, with fear of death surely the genesis of all others. We hear the roar of fire or the deep-throated thunder of mud and water sluicing toward us and stark terror is the only response in our repertoire.

Before the event, after the event, a few other emotions can get a toehold, calming us and sustaining us.

While it’s happening—at least for me—there is only complete and utter fear, quickly succeeded by clearheadedness as adrenaline kicks in and survival mode slots into place.

Blessed are our bodies, partnering with spirit and guiding us to safety when our minds freeze up and leave a wonderful blankness upon which salvation can be writ. 

*****

It’s a few hours later. The rain tapered off and now begins again.

This month of October feels like an era unto itself. It’s said that irreversible changes have occurred and will occur, most of them not common knowledge. A largely invisible battle is well and truly engaged.

Simon Parkes issued an alert to his Connecting Consciousness membership, posted on his blog a short while ago:

“Based on the latest conversations I have had I am formally asking CC Coordinators to follow through on the emergency zoom that was called at short notice with the country coordinators…”

I contemplate that information. Interesting; not sure exactly what it portends. I’ll keep an eye on my email and see if the Southern California coordinator sends out more information.

The rain continues. I wonder if it will soon return to gentleness? 

I wonder if these changes are truly happening?

I wonder if this will be the last year-round fire season that I and so many others in artificially parched locales will have to endure?

I mentally check in with Gaia. “Yes,“ she says simply.

Imagination, wishful thinking, connection with all that is…I take it for what it’s worth, for what it might be.

At the moment, I take it for truth. My truth, which seems to be all that I can reliably trust.

I peek out the window, peering at drizzly cloud and pale blue sky. 

Sure enough, there’s a rainbow touching down on the other side of the hill. 

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(1) Turns out this was a “bomb cyclone” storm, affecting the West Coast from Washington State to Southern California and no doubt beyond. See https://tinyurl.com/kupu5pfk. (HAARP, anyone?)