Let me be cleansed.
Let me be cleansed by the rain.
Wash away my fear with which I’ve recently become well acquainted.
Wash away old wounds clotted over with repression, release imagination.
Thunder clap, shake loose the doubt so that I might be confident.
Lightning strike, on this Carolina night, so that I might know true security.
Not impervious, not invulnerability, but security in myself, my projects, my directions, the path I’ve traveled.
Rain come down, wash over my pale fat body as it did the lean ancestors of millennia past on this land. Take my fear, my repression, my doubts and sweep them down to Ellerbe Creek, down to the Eno, out to the sea.
I will stand and be cleansed again and again until the day that I am ready for my great challenge, my great task.
Let me be cleansed, cleansed by the rain.
The power flickers and reminds me of the primal energy that flows through such a sterile, controlled looking apparatus as a grid, an outlet, a lamp.
Thunder crackles again, and the gods are here with us again in all their might and awe.
The world is alive and animated, and my problems are both small enough to laugh at, and natural enough to be handled just like any other.
There is no certainty, but if nature will but grant me a few more years, I will rise to give meaning to a force to be reckoned with. To join with other rising forces and claim the purpose to be fulfilled in this age, in this place.
To make the meaning that’s to be made. To dance with the ancient inspirations, apparitions, spirits of the age. “If you’re going to run from something, make sure you’re running towards something worthwhile.” So shall it be. So may I honor the time I’m given.
Years ago, I reached out to my imagined future self, and now he has appeared.
I reach out to the next future self over on the horizon. Show me the way. Teach me how to be the Thunder. Show me who you are so that I can become what I am through letting nature, natural practices, have their work.
Let me be cleansed.