I’m sitting here open-mouth grinning because it’s raining. A lot! In California! And it’s going to be raining all week!
I went to a couple of stores this morning, just so I could be out in the rain. At Walgreens, there was no indication of the poltergeist whose activity I’ve witnessed twice, but equally uncanny was a customer who remarked, “I’ve been to ATMs at three different stores and can’t get cash from any of them.“
“Oh,“ I said, excited, “Maybe they’re going over to the gold standard!“
The customer and the cashier ignored this remark. But I went on about my way, humming happily as I splashed to my car.
It’s raining, and ATMs aren’t coughing up cash. The steady, persistent rain feels like the weather manipulation inflicting perpetual drought on California is finally and truly dismantled. ATMs refusing to spit out US currency could be a fluke, but I prefer to think of it as a sign of the impending changeover to US Notes, backed by a gold standard.
It’s the last day of 2022. Although assigning significance to dates is a fool’s game, in this case I’m willing to be the fool. I choose to believe 2022 is winding quickly down, and the end of this year will coincide with kicking out the old, inimical forces, and welcoming the new and bright and true.
I can’t help being optimistic. It’s raining! In California!
I enjoy percolating in the giddiness for a while, indulging the human self’s satisfaction with things in the physical world feeling sparkly and fun. My enjoyment in shopping of any sort drained away many years ago, but lately, seeking out Christmas-themed trinkets has reignited it.
And now, my quest is for lights. Battery candles, fairy lights, strands that can twine over mantels and doorways and glow with quiet cheer.
I wasn’t thinking in terms of symbolism when the desire arose for more lights. But the philosophizing quadrant of my brain is never truly quiet, and I’ve realized that the unprecedented yearning for lights, lights, everywhere, might have more than one layer.
There’s an indefinable sense of rightness to lighting up the inside of the house. The visual reminder of light banishing dark from hidden corners sifts gently into my awareness.
Will there be a solar flare, soon? Will the light generated by the broadcast of truth soon be glowing from devices throughout this fair land? Will the Brunson Brothers’ Supreme Court case be heard, as scheduled, on January 6, and a decision be announced that electrifies the world?
Perhaps it’s a fatuous illusion, but I feel that increasing the light quotient in my environment encourages my internal lightness to increase, as well. I choose to believe that, rather than a frivolous pursuit, increasing my home’s illumination brightens more than just my immediate space.
It’s raining, a lot, in California. This is a miracle. If our weather can be freed from dark control, anything, anything whatsoever, is possible.
I think I’ll go out later and hunt down a sparkly strand of fairy lights, tucking them carefully under my coat so they don’t get wet. But my face, my face, I’ll turn up to the blessing of moisture from heaven.