Torrents of Rain

Torrents of Rain

(“O Lord, restore our well-being, just as the streams in the arid south are replenished.” Psalm 126:3)

Don’t let the fantasy of uneasy paragraphs
persuade you that the everything is glued,
everything is static,
everything is anti-motion. The stars are
moving away from us a trillion miles away.

Don’t let the certainty of ambiguity convince you
the rains are gone. Don’t let the clouds on the horizon
obscure the coming day. Lighter than the mountains,
denser that the sun,
invited by petition,
stretched like the ocean’s horizon,
hold the hope that yesterday’s promises bring.

The fog burned off quicker than I guessed,
the light, though slanted late summer,
reached my porch before the evening fell.
We examined every exposed corner where
the light bent to reveal life hidden behind the
outcroppings of doubt.

The wadis were waiting, the dried riverbed
asleep and dry. The pilgrims plod the
unkempt desert floor; the preachers are not
certain, though they have set a new date for
the end of the world. Do they every stop their
silly prophecies once the storms do not gather
like the have pontificated? Do they admit the harm
their proclamations have done?

There is a rainy season; there is a time when
water will fill the desert again. It does not come
from ego-saturation, it does not arrive because
someone painted sign with the exact date and time.
You can no more command the rain than you can
tie the wind with a half-hitch, tethering it to the mountains.

There is a season for ease; there is a gracious month
when the Spirit will fill the waiting again. She comes
when least expected; she fills the imagination; she washes
the religious dust away. You can no more command the
Spirit than you can turn the earth with your hands.

As a matter of fact, there is far more water to quench
your soul
than all the suns in the universe. Watch the desert
late evening silhouette. Let the peace that pursues the
thirsty make an oasis of your tear-dried tongues. No need
to ration anything. It is time to share the overflow
that comes from the joyous music of torrents of rain
we thought would never arrive.