The Nuance of Rain

“What sound was so delightful as that of soft rain, bounteous life itself so generously, so tenderly given from heaven to earth?”
-Carol Berg, Restoration

Have you ever noticed the different voices of the rain?

As I sit here typing this, the rain makes its music above me in a steady downpour. It sounds like a warm shower, cleansing what needs to be cleansed and clearing away all that restricts and confounds. It’s the best kind of rain, in my opinion; a mind bath in the purest sense. So while listening to this classic soundtrack, I figure that now would be a good time to reveal my obsession with rain, as well as my occasional frustration with it.

I can’t remember a time when I haven’t loved the sights and sounds of rain. It always confuses me when people complain about how the rain ruins their day, or how it puts them in a bad mood. I’m just not built that way. In fact, I’ve found that I’ll often be in a worse mood when it hasn’t rained in a while. The rain and I are friends. It gets me.

Lately, I’ve taken to listening to rain sounds throughout the day. It’s incredibly soothing and lifts my mood when my mood needs lifting, which is quite often. Despite that, I’ve found that rain in real time, right outside my window, is always more enjoyable to listen to than audio from a white noise app. So, on nights like this, I set my headphones aside and enjoy the concert live, taking a break from the studio recordings.

It occurs to me that there’s so much to the rain that we don’t usually notice. So many voices, so many tones and intensities. A thick and hazy torrent, or a brief and clear sunshower. A sizzling storm at midnight in the summer, or a frigid drizzle in the morning. Last night it was low, like a growl, a rhythmic and soulful drum against the window. Quietly consistent, it was my companion as I drifted off. Early yesterday evening, it was loud and aggressive, almost overwhelming, demanding to be heard and felt as it rocked everything below it. And still, there was an innocence to it.

Even at its “angry” frequency, its jarring deluge, the rain is never vengeful or sadistic. It’s never purposefully harmful or bitter. It simply is. That’s part of what I love about it, I think. Rain is only ever itself. It’s up to us to make sure we, and the people around us, are protected from the effects of what it does.

I feel like metaphorical rain is like that, too. The rainstorms in our lives usually aren’t as satisfying to experience as the physical rain, even to a pluviophile like myself. I no longer buy into the idea that we have to go through difficult things in order to reach some higher level of knowledge or understanding. We go through difficult things. We walk through the rain without always being able to see. And we can learn from the journey. I just don’t believe that the journey is there to torture us into growth. Sometimes it’s just raining.

The thing about the rain, though, is that it does water. It does nourish. Even in its passivity, it is giving life and allowing things to live. That’s true for us, too. The rainstorms in our lives can water the parts of us that need to be watered, if we have the presence of mind to let that happen. After all, it’s going to rain anyway. What’s the harm in letting the water reach the parts of us that may be wilting?

Maybe I’ll always feel a sort of kinship with the rain. I don’t think I’ll ever have trouble finding the beauty in a gray sky, a window speckled with clear drops, a chance to rest my head against the sky's chest and listen to its heartbeat.

I’ll admit, though — the “rainstorms” in my life are more difficult to find beauty in, probably because there’s no way for me to escape the effects. In those instances, I find that enjoying the rain is nearly impossible when my clothes and hair are soaked by it, I can’t see where I’m walking, and I just stepped in something disgusting that I can’t even try scraping off of my shoe without losing my footing and falling hard on my face.

It’s easier to enjoy the rain when you aren’t stuck in it.

As I close this, the physical rain is subsiding. For now, at least, I just hear the occasional stray drop against the window, the final few notes of a long jam session. I never meant for there to be a definitive ease for the tension between my love for physical rain and my exasperation with the rain in my own heart. I don’t think there’s meant to be a satisfying answer. The fulfillment is in the looking, in the grounding, and in the sound of the water.

And just like the clouds will naturally continue to rain on all of us, we will continue to drink and breathe and grow. I firmly believe that, even on the days when I don’t. The sky’s music always plays, and pneuma always wins.

-D.