I love rainy days.
When I was a child, my teachers would ask the class, “What do you want to do when you grow up?”
I would tell them, “I want to be a peacemaker.”
The students would laugh.
I would return home and see the desperation in my mother’s eyes. The longing.
Even if you could get away from it, the Iran-Iraq war was always on television. Taunting us in its journey of suffering.
In the beautiful land where I was born, bombs fell outside my nursery room window. I was a baby floating in love. I am lucky. Perhaps that is why my heart always beats so fast.
Rainy days, the violence stopped. At least, I imagined it did.
Gurus and scientists say consciousness is a matter, like the air you breathe, and the water you touch. Just think, your thoughts are swimming fish in a fast-moving ocean. You are part of a wave. You can stop wars. You can part seas.
Do you notice how so many people call in sick from work on rainy days?
Maybe it is true. Maybe you are sick. You numbed it until nature told you:
“Temporarily Down for Maintenance. Your Soul Needs Repair.”
I wonder, how many reflective thoughts come from a rainy day?
Two. Two Trillion. The ripple of infinity.
How much innovation germinates? How much floats? How many old ways degrade, leaving space for new?