Dry Spell

E-mailed Submission

I keep dreaming about rain. Every night for the past two weeks I have
dreamt about it. The only constant in each is the rain itself. Every
one is woven through richly with joy and a sense of peace and of
fulfillment. They are very enjoyable.

When I wake up I am saddened to find was just a dream. Saddened that it
did not really rain and that it has not for awhile. Or at least not as
much as I want it to.

Often I am teased by a quick shower that ends all too quickly. But
these do not seem to wane the waxing ache in my heart or in my head.
They only awaken my appetite without properly sending it back to bed.

Please do not misunderstand, I am grateful and elated for any rain that
comes my way. I am not so greedy that a gift goes unnoticed.

What makes it all the worse to bear is that clouds pass near me every
day. Round, soft, playful clouds with whispered possibilities of
showers. If they sky was always barren perhaps I would not be reminded
so of this heart's desire. Fasting is more difficult the nearer the end
approaches.

I want drops to fall from the sky and drench my face in cool kisses. I
want the clouds to stretch overheard and dim the sun like a soft
blanket in morning. I want to be soaked through. I want fall asleep
with its breath in my ear.

I do not want to perform rain dances, virgin sacrifices, or cloud
seeding. I do not wish to coax the rain from the sky with sweet words
and heavy looks. I do not want to sit with crossed arms and many a
sigh until drops hit the overhang of my pouting lip. I want it to fall
naturally and spontaneously. Because it wants to.

I am a wrinkled old miser. The rain comes as much as is proper and I
have no right to complain. I tell myself this but I do not listen to my
advice for long. The rain falls when the rain falls. I will keep my
heart, and my mouth, quiet until then.

- BhikkhuDave