Above the storm

It was 2.5 years ago I took myself to the Cayman Islands to visit a friend. I was dealing with a lot of inner turmoil at the time. I needed time away. I needed space and distance to regain my breath.

I was walking along Seven Mile Beach when I witnessed this storm out in the water.

Look at that black rain.

The thick dark cloud.

Had I been closer to the storm, this is what I would have seen.

Had I been underneath that rain, this would have been my view.

That’s the thing about storms – when you’re close to or in it, it’s hard to see anything but the darkness. Thick clouds are hard to see through. Adding a blanket of rain between you and the clouds makes it even harder.

Seeing the sun for the clouds is something storm dwellers feel pressure to do, feel failure for not being able to do, and feel lazy for not trying harder to do – as if we aren’t blinded and cold and weighed down by the storm.

I took this picture at the time, from my place on the beach, knowing I’d get closer to that deluge before I was able to find my way out of it, and I captured the whole image, so that I could always have it to remind myself, even above that black sheet of rain, above thick dark clouds, was blue sky and sun.

My personal storm persisted long past that trip to Cayman. The rain got heavier and the clouds darker, just as I suspected. I knew friends were on the beach, screaming Polo as I cried out Marco. Screaming hotter as I felt I was moving colder.

I’ve grasped at each lifeline thrown at me to pull me away, as I built up the strength to grab and hold on to be able to be dragged ashore.

It’s hard, when you’re in the storm, to believe the clouds will ever lift. Even as they do, even as they retreat, even as the rain stops and the skies brighten, it can be hard to feel the warmth of the sun.

Heavy storms like that don’t just disappear. But the sun is there. It’s waiting. It’s not going anywhere. It’s ALWAYS there.

Kind of like the people on the shore throwing lifelines. The good ones and the solid ones who see the rain and the clouds and the sun, from their perspective on the beach, directing you out of what you can’t see, towards what they can – the sun.

The voices get louder. They become easier to hear. The shore becomes easier to see, and eventually, slowly, but surely, the warmth starts to hit again and the clouds?

Well, they don’t block the sun as much as they did.