August 11, 2002

Rain Drops

Rain drops make for wonderful time pass when they drip slowly off the eaves. Makes you want to stick your neck out and let it fall on your nose and let it gently run down to the lips and then welcome them into the mouth softly with the tip of the tongue. They fall one at a time or in a constant stream when it rains too hard gently caressing your face with the wild spray.

Each a pearl drop of sadness or of joy intermingled with each other.... like moments of passing life they fall and they fall.... not waiting for anyone... in a mad but gentle rush to break into so many of the same and to then reunite to become the one same.. splitter splatter.....ripples echo the distant voice of the mother warning the child not to go out into the rain... more of them fall and they keep falling... I want to be washed in it...... I want to hear all the voices.... voices that I have not heard.. voices from a dreamy land... voices that asked for a bit more, which later went silent..

I want more... the singular drop is sinful anathema in this land. I want to submit to the urges of the dark one, drench and drown in sin and hope that it will take me in its arms, drown me in the voices.. shower me with everything that fall from the great whiteness that stretches as far as my eyes can see.... I hope I dissolve in it, consumed by the richness of all that could have been in this barren land marked by the distant and deep scars of many a past harsh summer... I want to do a joyous dance garlanded in my out spilled gut in celebration of the sinful drops...the innards washed clean..... finally I am pure.... be it even in sin.....

Why are they falling like this? They should not fall like this. I want to stop them doing this mad suicidal lemming act... in vain I try to hold them back from shattering on the dry earth... from joining the countless other millions.... I am urging the singular to go against the norm.. to break a path.. to feed my faith... to help me survive.. to stay on my arms... to plead my case.... to cleanse... to sin... to repent.... the millions join other millions.... the whole become little parts and the little parts become the whole again.... I am caught in the middle begging, pleading, crying.... infiltrating the pure millions with my own salty pearls.... more of them fall and they keep falling... the sheer numbers restore the purity.. .. my defeat is absolute.... I am being ground into the muddy puddles... the end is near, the end is complete..

The last of the drops are hanging off the eaves. Reluctantly they let go of each other to land on the puddle with a final plop, the ripples distort the angelic look on my face to form a contorted truth... I stretch my neck out for one last time to urge a drop to fall on my nose tip and then to my lips again.... it falls on to my eyes.. mingles with a salty pearl... sin and goodness now indistinguishable... where dream starts, where reality ends, i do not know.... through the kaleidoscope of a pearl hanging from my eyelash a million images flash by..... so many yesterdays..... and the passing today.... I can see my own life passing by.....I want to ask it to stop, take a look at itself.. but it is unreachable and untouchable... I have no voice or form... I stand helpless and imprisoned in my own untouchablity...

The last daubs of face paint carefully removes any remaining pearly traces.... I paint a wonderful smile on the face.... the clown is ready for one final act.. prepare to smile, prepare to laugh, prepare to be entertained.... the paintbrush lies abandoned in the puddle and the last of the drops fall from the eaves...... plop.