As storms come, a feeling, some sense.
Weather is shared.
Why trouble, why worry, go inside.
Find shelter and wait.
Even the most violent storms pass
Some in the blink of an eye.
At times, we walk into the front,
Like the water buffalo.
Other times, we wait quietly inside,
Wondering when the storm will pass
And it does eventually
Sometimes without lasting damage.
But damage and injury none the less.
At times, the wounds need to be addressed.
The weather always brings change
One can never be the same again,
The prideful try to create better weather,
Modern wannabe rains dancers.
The fearful try to get back to normal.
As if anything ever was, or will be, normal.
Be here now.
Soul Journeys 