Storms in their fury forever alter coastlines and ecosystems. Too often we exhaust ourselves fighting that which is not seeking to drown us, but to guide us towards that which we cannot see.
It’s about to roll in, and I stand immobile.
That oft used phrase of ‘the calm before the storm’ comes to mind. I wonder whose misguided sense of judgment thinks that storm clouds gathering and rolling in was akin to anything resembling a calm.
I am always drawn to being outside when I know or even hope that storms are coming. Feeling the wind pick up, tousling my hair with incrementally increasing speed. My skin sensing the electricity in the air. The smell of heavy rain effervescent, airing its intentions. Flashes of light on the horizon, too far away to see the bolts.
Nothing in this entire stormy ecosystem is calm.
Except me.
My heart rate slows, my breathing gets deeper. The anxieties and tensions melt away. My entire being is focused on the current state of weather. Perhaps it is the honor of being witness to such majesty, or the security of having a safe place of retreat.
My eyes shift towards the tides and current, altering their course and size, working in tandem with the larger force at work.
And my mind wanders.
To be farther out beyond the site of land, in the midst of such ferocity, can have cataclysmic effects. All senses are focused on fighting. Breathing, swimming, staying afloat. Trying to get to where you think you should be.
Ah, yes. Trying to get to where you think you should be.
Storms are transformative things. They reshape coastlines, affect wildlife and entire ecosystems. Is it not the same with us?
Too often we deplete our energy stores battling against that which we cannot and should not. We fight against the change in direction, thinking to do anything contrary is to submit to the dying of the light. But we fail to see that we are being guided into a course correction. The tides are pushing us to new waters and out of our field of vision we fail to see the land.
We fail to see it because we are consumed by the struggle. By what we believe we should be doing, where we should be going, and who should be accompanying us.
The storm knows different.
A change in coordinates.
The storm rages with a purpose. Our woefully misguided judgment attempts to counter what it inherently believes to be true. Until we realize that there is nothing left, and we think we have lost the fight.
It is then, and only then, we remember we float. And what we have been pushing against has been leading us ever closer to our salvation, our purpose.
The land beckons.
I watch the storm clouds gather, and feel the large drops splash on my arms, head, and clothes. I stay until the splashes come faster and the roar of rain echoes ever closer.
For those in the storm’s grasp, you are closer than you know.
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