One With the Storm

When will I become that which I love?

It was a rare stormy day in Southern California. It was the kind of day where cool wind blows from the west, bringing not only the scent of the coming rainstorm, but also a touch of briny bitterness that comes from an ocean in turmoil.

I drive quickly to the nearby cliffs overlooking the ocean. Gathering emotional momentum, I open the door as gusts of wind try to keep it closed, I struggle but succeed, the noise of the door slamming closed lost in the howling winds. I stop briefly and just gaze, trance-like, at the power of the broiling sea. I move closer, hoping to feel the full wrath of the angry storm.

The wind whips up and down, almost rhythmic with the waves as they crash against the rocks below me. Salt water spray from the crashing waves is caught by the whipsaw winds and carried up and over the edge of the cliff, towards me, lightly slapping me in the face with a stinging chorus of salty droplets escaping inland towards the dry desert backdrop.

Soon, the rain begins, coming down at first in tiny invisible molecules pulled towards the earth by gravity, then pushed sideways by the rush of wind off the sea. A distant rumble rolls in from the west, flying over the ocean until it hits me directly in the core of my being, vibrating the bonds that hold my cells together.

The feeling evokes a sense memory of my youth in the Midwest, where storms were commonplace, and taken for granted.

I revel in the trembling caused by the cool rain, the thundering crash of waves upon the rocks below, the roiling clouds above, and rumbling of distant thunder as it comes closer and closer. It’s a promise of what is to come, and a warning to all who dare stay.

I take a step closer to the edge of the cliff, crumbling from eons of wind and storms and crashing waves, the dirt soaked to its depth, then dried out and crumbling by the hot summer sun.

The thundering clouds are now overhead, the wind whipping harder, the droplets now the size of gumballs, hurting now, as they impact my drenched body. I rip off my shirt so I can feel the full brunt of the impact against my skin. Icy particles descend from the heights, shattering on the car, the ground, and my bare skin, each impact driving more life into my weak-souled shell.

Occasional lightening flashes overhead, another rare occurrence. I glance up, squinting my eyes for protection from the rock hard rain drops and gale force winds.

My eyes light up and my vision flares out as lightening flashes overhead where I am staring, my own personal light show. “Here!” I shout at the void. “I am here!”

I lean forward into the wind, rocking back and forth with each gust, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, and the unforgiving rocks below, now hidden by the rising and angry sea.

The wind plays with me, allowing me to lean precariously close to falling before surging and pushing me back from the precipice. One more step forward, closer to the crumbling edge.

I revel in the power of nature. I feast on its impact to my soul. I devour the wind and the rain. I am recharged by the ions mating above, their progeny exploding across the sky, zigging and zagging between imaginary enemies. I am hopeful to become one with them, my life essence shattered in a brilliant explosion of unseen energy, absorbed by the universe and living forever in the mist.

I pray for a strike to my body, now leaning precariously towards the sea, my soul watching from above, waiting for the inevitable.

One more step, and I can become that which I love. Smashed into the rocks below, my life-force released by sharp rock edges and the brute force of the white-capped waves, and absorbed by the electricity in the air, and emotional and angry sea, my sacrifice selfishly satisfying my inner storm, allowing me to rage with the season.

But, alas, the storm rages on without an invitation. My disappointed soul returns to my body, now suffering the ravages of the storm, quivering from the cold, wet wind.

I look down one last time, and step back from the abyss, my soul restless for the ultimate adventure, but not yet ready to give up the mortal realm.

I walk slowly back to my car, refusing to look back, not wanting to lose the presence of the storm in the memory of my soul. I sit quietly behind the steering wheel of the car, doors and windows closed, muffling the sounds that once brought my soul alive. I stare towards the sea, my visions no longer ethereal, but distorted. I turn the wipers on, the windows clear briefly, but the visions dissipate in the storm.

Once again in my human form, I drive slowly from the parking lot into the sea of raging humanity, lost in it’s simplicity, bored by it’s sameness, and become, once again, a part of the mass, no longer in random motion like the storms I love, my individuality no longer an important aspect of the whole.

Chuck Roast tries to write Satire and Humor. Sometimes other stuff, too. This is some of that “other stuff.” But one thing he likes is comments from readers to interact with. Please feel free to leave a comment, Or, if you write your own story about the storms in your soul, please tag me. I’d love to read them, and comment back to you.

PS: If you enjoyed this story, here’s a subtle push towards my newsletter. When you subscribe, I’ll send you some original, never before published content, and some links to my Medium stuff. Thanks, Kristi Keller for the wording of this blurb.