The sound of rain patters down and drowns out all your sorrows. That’s why many people don’t like the rain—they’d rather hold on to misery. We have a tendency to hold on to such things until we think we’re done with them, but really, it’s until they are done with us. We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that we are the ones in control, when really in such cases, our sorrows have run off with the reins.

It’s a similar thing with shadows. We think we fear shadows, but really, the shadows come because of fear. They come when we refuse to turn on the light that will show us what we truly fear. Rather than know our fears, we let shadows mask them, then claim that it is the shadows that are so frightening to us.

This is not to say that to grieve is evil, or to focus on something that is not our fear is cowardly. Sorrow and joy, fear and courage, these things all must exist concurrently. But when we hold to grief longer than it wants to stay and let it corrode our souls or bury our fears deep and refuse to ever, ever acknowledge them, we are the ones deceived.

But rain washes away sorrow, it quenches every thirst, and it allows us to be free from those things that bind us. Hear the rain. See the rain. Drink in its scent and sound and cool fluid matter and thereby relish in the simple joy of life falling from heaven.

And do not flee the lightning. Even as it reveals your fear, lightning may strike it down with thunderous blast as it splits the sky with its violent, blazing touch. If it does not, at least face your fears down, for it is your fears that reveal you, and you must know yourself before the end comes. If not, you live and die in a lie, and lies entrap the soul.

Break free of shadows, let your sorrows flow away, and face every terror in the brilliant, sudden glow of lightning. Hereafter your soul will be free to streak home to the glorious heights above when every pretense, veil, and weight is cut away.

And when you’re done, don’t forget to eat pancakes. Because pancakes are delicious.

Thoughts? Feelings? Impressions? Think I’m absolutely bonkers? Let me know! Also like and share this post to spread the wanton madness around. All proceeds go toward infusing dead birds with the raw life found in puddles. Really.