My hair is still wet from being down at the water this afternoon. I went because the storm is violent and angry, and I needed peace.
Yes, you read that right. Peace while the storm rages, peace while I get soaked to the bone with windburn on my cheeks.
The remnants of Typhoon Songda hitting the PNW this weekend mirrors what is going on with me internally. Chaos. I have a moment here and there of being more settled, and then the chaos reigns once again.
It’s almost unnerving how this storm hit at the exact same time my chaos did. It’s like the universe planned it. I’m not quite certain yet if I like that thought or hate it, but I know that I have to ride it out nevertheless.
I went down to the shore tonight because if I’m going to ride this out, both the storm outside and the storm in my heart and soul, I’m going to go all in. I’m going to stand in the middle of it and scream at it, letting the wind whip my wet hair into my face as my voice carries out over the crashing waves. I’m going to invite it in and let it push me and shove me where it will. There is no use fighting it.
For there is also the knowledge of an ending. Somewhere, at some point, the storm will cease. We may not see it while we are in it, but it will end. Slowly, gradually, the wind and rain and clouds will roll away.
Just as I know that about external storms, so do I know it about internal ones. As I lay on the floor and heave from throat wrenching and wailing sobs, I also hold tight to the knowledge that the sobs will eventually turn into exhausted silence. The pain will subside… even just a little bit. Breaths will become easier to take in… and push out.
And, as my dear friend Amy told me – the largest and most demolishing storms will always produce flowers in unexpected places. It’s the violence of the storm that lifts the seeds and places them in areas they were never in before. Areas where even we could not have placed a seed with our own hands.
So live your storms. Don’t fight them. You may think that they are blowing everything away, everything beautiful that you held dear. And they may be. However, they will also clear out the neglected and old things that needed clearing out. It may be the most painful thing you’ll ever have to do… and you may have to scream your way through it… but always remember:
The sun will appear when the clouds roll away. Flowers will grow. Beauty will come back. And this time, the beauty will be new and fresh and unexpected.
This I promise.
(photo taken by me as I was out this evening)