one night, long ago, as the sky cried, wind whispered, i stayed up through the wee hours of the night/morning listening to raindrops bouncing off of concrete with my closet friend at the time: an atheist with a heart so beautifully open he redefined my perception of god and spirituality. i was most at peace listening to him rant and rave about life's illogical guidelines while giggling about yet another one of his foiled murder attempts.
i remember that night simply from the silence. we barely spoke at all. the sky was weeping and he, so unnaturally quiet, the patter of raindrops and feet slosh and treading tires on wet ground the only sounds between us. i asked him what lay on his mind, asked him what could possibly be there to render him mute.
he was so serene...
he spoke about how calming the rain was for him. said that it was the only time he felt he could exist in this realm of the world, the only time that it ever felt truly clean. when it rained, he said, life carried all the bullshit, the crime, the filth down random sewer drains. that criminals were less apt to commit crimes in downpours. and that it was the only time he felt the world to be an honest place.
if he was the type of being to 'beam', he would have been glowing...
he said that if he could, he'd trail all of the rainstorms around the world, exist in a constant purge, and only then he'd be a peace, only then would he call me from here, or there, just to tell me that he finally found god, and would i believe, she existed in the raindrops all along?
(soft sigh)...because of him...i have never looked at rain quite the same. every drop, like a blessing, or a prayer that had been answered...and that moment, the closet moment, to ever truly touching heaven...
