Understanding the violence of a storm

It’s amazing to wake up to such a quiet and tranquil morning particularly after the violent thunderstorm we had last night. I was just about to leave the office at about 7.15 last night when I heard a loud rumble. I asked one of my colleagues if it was thunder and she said yes. I came out of my office and looked out the window and was surprised to see how drastically the day had changed since I had last looked outside.

The sun and cloudless sky had been replaced by a dark and threatening sky. Cumulus clouds so thick and so black they looked like they wanted to burst. Though I’m getting better, thunderstorms still terrify me so I quickly went back into my office where I could not see what was happening outside and went back to work. Grateful for my cocoon. The storm went on crashing and rumbling outside. And as everyone left the office and I was the only one left on my side the sound of the rain and the storm grew louder. And every time there was a rumble I shuddered.

I immersed myself in the file I was working on. Only when the storm seemed to be abating, I decided I would leave with the prayer that I would get home safely. As I drove out of the parking lot, the storm came back in full force.  The rain started to come down so hard it was difficult to see in front of me. And the lightning was flashing fiercely around me. Thankfully most of the flashes were sheet rather than fork and it looked like they were far away. I had my music up so loud that I could not hear the thunder. But it’s the lightning that frightens me the most so every time there was a flash I trembled. Flinching so much that sometimes I was distracted from driving.

Deciding getting home safely was more important to me than my fear of the thunderstorm,  I gave myself a pep talk about the fact that if I loved nature so much I had to accept this thunderstorm was a part of nature. A way for it to replenish itself. To relieve itself of the heavy stillness and humidity that had been building. To allow, as my mother used to say, fresh air to come back in. I repeated this over and over again to myself almost like a mantra until I could feel the tension easing out of my body. And I was not gripping the steering wheel as hard. And then I had the nerve to look up at the sky rather than trying my best not to look at it at all. In doing so I was amazed by the beauty of the stormy sky.

In some places the sky was dark and ominous while in others it was clear with wispy dark clouds and because the sun was still setting, there was a glow in the sky where there were no cumulus clouds. The lightning flashed from one side of the sky to the other bringing light to the darkened sky. It was almost as if there was a dance going on between the dark and the light. Each struggling to show they exist and can coexist together if need be. I watched the sky for quite some time when I sat at the traffic light still afraid but not as terrified. And I felt a sense of peace come over me.

Recognising there is a time and place for everything. Thankful that I was able to witness one of the wonders of nature. And when I got home I felt so proud of myself for confronting one of my greatest fears and looking it in the eye and recognising that after the storm there is always calm. Fully accepting and understanding the term, “And this too shall pass.”

Waking up this morning to a glorious and fresh morning was the icing on the cake after the storm last night. Its only remnants being the wetness from all the rain. In gratitude to nature for reminding me that the violence of a storm is equivalent to a turbulent period in our lives, clearing and making space for something wonderful that is to come. And for this lesson I am truly grateful.