Storm Lessons

Last night was a good one. Not a huge huge one, but we definitely felt it.

After days with no rain and lots of calm weather, Lila and I were sitting at the beach at sunset watching the surfers on their boards when an enormous gust of wind blew our way. What seemed like a million grains of sand swirled around us while I noticed the sky turning a dark shade of gray.

"The weather has something to say," I thought.

Then a drop of warm water, nice and fat. Then another.

I decided to skip the pizza and head home.

Lila and I hopped on the quad and made our way out of the village and towards the countryside. She ran part of the way, ahead of the bike as we both got wet. It felt so good, so free and alive.

Back home, the sky was getting really dark and the wind was picking up fast. It was happening.

I moved whatever was on the patio, closed our big doors and windows, gave Lila three heart-shaped CBD tablets, wished I had some for me and got ready. Tiji (the only Mexican-born of the family) was calmly stretched out outside, enjoying all of it. It took a bit for me to convince her that the bed would make a better vantage point. She took her sweet time walking in.

By then the thunder was thundering, and the sky was lighting up bright silvery white. The banana trees were fully engaged in the wind's invitation to dance, and there was very little holding back. Water, wind, crackling thunder, and us.

It went on for a while and in the midst of it, my solar panels blew a fuse. No more fans cooling the air,  and because it was the first time, I did not know how to fix it. Now I do.

But we were okay. I talked nicely to myself and spent several hours on the phone with someone I love.

By early morning I went to sleep and did not emerge till about 11, which felt decadent and delicious.

We had made it through another one and I stepped outside full of gratitude and awe.

And right there, outside my door, was paradise.

Overnight, the greens had gotten brighter, the air was fresh, and the cows were mooing and eating, and BEING. A warm passion fruit had fallen to the ground, luring me into breakfast.

The thing that jolted me was how the energy was fully peaceful and there was zero leftover story about What Happened Last Night.

I have experienced this several times before, following a hurricane. The uncanny sense of peace.

But this was different. It felt like an invitation to learn something. A lesson.

A lesson in Presence, in Purity. In letting go. In Authenticity, too.

While Nature was being big, huge, loud, and disruptive, there was no excuse being extended. No holding back, no questioning how it compared to a blow-up of the past nor how it might look tomorrow. Pure energy. Presence.

The day after, there was no apology, no story, no hanging on. The cows were not talking to themselves about it, the banana trees were swaying their now dry leaves into the warm calm wind, there was nothing but peace. Presence.

I am sitting with this. Listening to the places inside of me that are thirsty for a human-level version of it. I am being. Open to the Gift of a possible up-leveling.

And because I am human and more complicated than a banana tree, I am going to pick up my broom and sweep the couple of light bulbs that got rattled onto my patio floor.

Then I will cut this glorious warm passion fruit in half and give thanks for living here.

For living, really.