The rain falls softly tonight and darkness slips behind the day. Billy Joel's River of Dreams album runs smooth in the atmosphere. A splash of rum and Coke complete the scene.
It's January and my sliding glass door is slightly open. The heat hasn't kicked on for days and the cool air feels fresh on my bare chest. I can smell the rain. I pull the air in deep before slowly allowing it to escape into the night.
It's a good night to contemplate my being. The falling rain somehow provides some cover, some grace, some comfort. I think of things wagered, battles won, losses taken, and scars that bear evidence of stories to tell. I see that I am not perfect and yet I am learning to love who I am.
When the rain drop falls does it enjoy the plunge? Does it regret it's time as vapor before becoming liquid? No, surely it must simply enjoy the journey. And so I sit in my fourth floor apartment over Indianapolis and I contemplate my present. I am overwhelmed by the people in my life who I love. There is beauty in the rain.
And so what do I have to say tonight? I say that I recognize that I am here. I am content with the man my creator created that I call me. Beyond my self-judgments, beyond my own self-inflicted Hells, even beyond the scrutiny of others... I choose the falling of the rain.
This soft night I choose to be a man of thanks, of peace, of reflection, and dare I say... even a man of hope. The rain falls softly tonight and I allow it to cleanse my soul.
"Invariably our best nights were those when it rained." -Henry David Thoreau