Have you ever danced in the rain that you could feel the rain drops curling into your soul and spilling serenity into all of its being, waking up all those parts that have been dead for as long as you could remember?
I have, and it feels as magnificient as it might be described in the pages of all those literature lying untouched in the libraries to the townhall. I let it not only drench me but my existence, the pores of my skin were filled with a power so divine that I couldn’t believe it was just water droplets falling over me. It was almost as if I was the chosen one, as if the skies were rewarding me for contemplating their beauty. I felt like the hollowness was seeking my prowess to transform the ethos into something bright and meaningful.
So, I let my arms open wide and took a spin. I think I was reminding myself that I was still a part of my reality, I think I was trying to set motion to this vivid dream that I was living. I let my hands paint on the imaginary canvas that the droplets had been creating, and my feet followed thus. I couldn’t come on terms to realise I was dancing. I was moving, letting the rain soak me to the point there was no room for any more rain.
But there is always room for more and more rain. Let it sink to the pit of your stomach and lighten your head. Then step back, imbibe what it offers to you. Then shudder and deter your parochial self.
C’mon dance your worries of in the next rain.