London Rain

It had been raining. Taking cover under the porch of the house the shower passed as grey clouds move across the leaden sky. Clean air hits the nostrils. It is wet everywhere. On the pavements, on the leaves and on the road as a car swishes by.

The clear stillness is broken by a loud plop of water as it falls on the steps, followed by more plops as water drips from gutters, roofs and trees. The drops are loud and clear, some sharp, some softer as they hit the odd patch of earth.

No silence, no plops. Both necessary for the other. Each drop though similar is also distinct and separate. None better or worse than the other. Even the same drip in the same place is not the same as the preceding one. And the silence.

Suffering and happiness are like these raindrops. Once they have fallen they have fallen. Having fallen there is silence. My thoughts and feelings are like these drops of water, and there are so many of them. To be truthful most of my life I have been caught up in these raindrops. When there were no drops, I felt my life was empty and had no meaning. At other times the drops were unfamiliar and frightening. Other drops were exciting and fun and I wanted more of them. I have spent a lot of time longing for the ones I liked and avoiding the ones I did not want. It was never ending.

I never really stopped to think or realise where they were coming from. I never really noticed the silence. I read many books, heard many people talk about this silence but somehow, although vaguely recognising what was said, I never really knew.

And then I knew the silence and ‘it’ knew me and here was home, so happy. But first I had to know the pain. It still hurts, but it’s not the same. I am so grateful.

Another raindrop, another plop amongst countless raindrops....plop....

Nick Carroll