Yesterday I became the rain. I became the rain that tapped on my window and broke the silence. I became the rain that clustered in puddles and ran on my windowsill like a river. I became the smell of rain, the fresh aura of spring, the aftermath of winter and the melted snow. I became the slush and mud in rain puddles; I became the thunder that cut the sky in half.
When you become the rain, everything is so light, so weightless that you begin to float. You begin to think that you are just air, a single atom of oxygen. And the lightness of being becomes a bearable enticement.
Life is light when you are the rain. When you are free. When you have unwrapped yourself from everything that wraps you in, that beholds you. And this lightness of being makes breathing a lot easier…
It’s like lust, the lightness. It’s uncomplicated, untangled, unwrapped, unraveled. It’s like breathing without working the muscles of the heart. It’s like dreaming. It’s erotic and sinful and unruly. It’s the perfect intoxication, the lightness of being.