October 24, 2014

Storm Woman.


I have always worshipped the radiant sun.

Years have passed pining for her rapture, chasing her calm light. My mood eternally governed by the kiss of warmth on my skin and glitter over sapphire waters.

Yet, my restless heart seeks further of late. My pilgrimage leads me from the luminance I once coveted, into the unknown. I find myself a fearless explorer facing much darker spaces. I’m not afraid. I realise that somewhere along the way, I have grown to love the majesty of the storm and all her stunning chaos.

A sense of peace stills my busy mind moments before the first raindrop plummets to earth. I sense it before I see or feel it. The ethereal light plays on rooftops, a lantern lit by angels to herald the storms arrival. I bask in the eerie golden glow, the only soul in sight, face upturned to the rolling clouds as they sail by on gilded wings.

All is still.

The passing wind holds its tremulous breath, teasing me with a whispered caress. I watch as an old newspaper takes flight, the silent ghost that haunts deserted streets. The air hums and crackles with magic, and I have two choices: find shelter, or embrace the tempest.

I choose to do both.

I stand small against the powerful rage that builds above me. Thunder commands my full attention in glorious grumbling tones, as white-hot lightning leaps and twists, a wild dancer against the darkened sky. I am frozen, mesmerized.

The rain comes.

From beneath the open porch where I stand, I watch as rain begins to pour, humidity relieved by tears from heaven. The fresh smell of rain is punctuated by fragrant jasmine and I close my eyes, breathing deeply. My ritual begins.

Stepping out into the onslaught, I laugh with wild abandon as the first cleansing drops soak my hair, streaming into my face, my eyes, my mouth. I want to feel and taste it all.

I hold my arms out to the sky, embracing my liberation. It’s just nature and me—locked in this fiery battle of wills and neither of us are backing down any time soon.

My saturated clothes hug my body, laying my form bare for all to see. Torrents of cold water expose the curve of my breasts and hips as I dance in the downpour. I feel the full power of my natural self. I do not care how my hair looks, or that my mascara is streaming down my face. I am free. There are no rules in the eye of the storm.

The wind, a howling demon now, screams over roofs and rattles fences. It fitfully throws chairs in a rush of passion, destroying ancient trees without a thought. It feels no guilt for it’s urges and we all could learn from that. It is time for me to take cover.

I move inside, stripping off my wet clothes and jumping into bed. I lay warm under soft thick blankets, watching the room illuminate as lightening prowls the streets on sharpened claws. The rain is a lullaby, pattering on glass as rivulets stream down the window, making my eyes heavy.

Before I surrender to sleep, I give thanks to the roaring storm. She speaks to the boisterous part in me, stirring my sleeping desires, reminding me that even smooth sailing is dreary after a while. Shy and retiring will not always serve me well. She shows me that destruction can be beautiful, for devastation is freedom to create anew once again. And create I will.

I recognize that some part of me will always seek the tranquil sun, but I know now that there is so much more to me than just that. Some dark and turbulent place inside demands my attention also.

She exists in you, too.

She wants something for us—a life that is free and full of our own natural power. She wants us to roam the world with wild abandon, seeking beyond our meeker selves. She tells us not to be afraid of chaos, for it has many gifts to share with us. We can storm through our life any time we choose to, and it is that choice that is important here.

The storm will pass, and the world will be new once more, shaped by our passion. So, be a child of the sun by all means.

Embrace peace.

Chase the light.

Sing your dreams.

But please, oh please, sometimes, give into your inner storm woman.

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Apprentice Editor: Jessica Sandhu / Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Pixoto

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