I sat in the rain. It was a pouring cold rain
that was much too cold for this June day.
I wanted to feel this June’s deluge so I lifted
my face and tears from the sky poured over
my despair. I wanted to feel the pouring cold
rain, June’s deluge washing me of my sin.
Thunder rolled by and over my bearing. It filled
my ears. I cried out in tandem. I released my pain
to the pouring cold deluge, much to cold for
this June day. My tears were diluted with fresh
new water as I sat on a step under trees bowing,
unable to balance, not one extra drop, no longer.
My breath almost drowned, flowed out and down
until the lawn could hold no more. So I walked with
the deluge along bulging gutters, feet submerged
in June’s cold rain. I kicked at rain waters and
stomped on the waves rushing into the deep black
gash. The day’s deluge gulped down by the sewers
took my crimes and washed them away on this
cold June day. The deluge slowed. Streams turned
into drops. Then droplets. Then nothing at all. I raised
my face up to June’s grey day in gratitude of its
cleansing. I know that from rain green grows lush
and glorious, blooms arise with colors to adorn.
The deluge always cleanses. Pouring cold rain,
much too cold for this June day.
I was recently introduced to the lament. In a Celtic Spirituality retreat with Stefan Andre Waligur, I experienced the call and response of the lament. He spoke of how in our Western culture are afraid to let go of our emotions, especially in community. And subsequently we do not heal. We have lost a togetherness that only this opening of oneself, this free flow of emotion can offer.
Today as I sat waiting for tornado sirens to silence, listening to the relentless rain, I felt as if the world was in lament. I know this rain, once the damage from the hail heals, will bring new life to my garden. Much like a lament.
Thank you, Stefan.
Although this is not a lament, it is a lovely example of the kind of chanting we experienced at our retreat.