She Wakes with the Rain

I wrote this poem a little over a year ago when I was coping with a bout of depression. At the time I had just returned to the UK after a whirlwind trip with lots of rushing around. I was coping with a lot of uncertainty, including living situation, relationship doubts, work stress, and general direction in life.

Rereading it, I reflect on how important it is to acknowledge the darker parts of ourselves and to hold them with love and care. Pushing those parts away, holding them at arm’s length, only creates division within ourselves and ultimately prevents us from having meaningful, lasting, and connected relationships with those around us.

I’m posting this now not because she is awake, the girl who hides in the darkness. In fact, she is sleeping quite soundly at the moment. But because the rain that finally broke the endless heatwave hanging over the UK reminded me of this poem and I felt compelled to share.

Enjoy xx

August 2, 2021 

I am glad when she wakes with the rain because Mother Nature’s empathy surrounds her and I know she does not feel so alone.

She is my constant companion, hiding in the deepest recesses, the cool, dank caverns of my soul. She is content to be alone because she finds comfort in the darkness. In her solitude she finds the understanding and peace that allows her to slumber. While she wanders through blissful dreams, her quiet snores echo off the rough stone walls that serve as her sanctuary. 

But sometimes a hole appears in the ceiling to cast the the painful bright light of day upon her face. She wakes, suddenly aware of the vast and encompassing emptiness that exists beyond her cave, the light that is the domain of her Sister.

Going out into the sun she realizes her insignificance. Her lack of. She feels exposed and raw.

There are others in the above world, but she cannot comprehend them. They are shill and strange, they are thick with a sickening sweetness, and their touch understands not the subtleties of her existence and the fragility of her nature.

These people mistake her for Sister,

bombard her with questions

flying annoyance at her timid remarks

her uncharacteristic questions

her hesitant nature.

They expect Sister….They don’t want her, and so their words bruise though their intentions are steeped in kindness and concern.

They hurt…they hurt, and she cannot escape the barbs of their thoughts, their looks, their expectations. 

This is not the world she was born into, not the world she desires to live in. She becomes defensive, elusive, and fearful. 

She wants to bury her head in the sand.

To sink back into her oblivion.

To sleep soundly with the solid rock roof above her head.  

The longer she lingers in the world of light, the more useless, insignificant, and out of place she feels.

Guilt leads her to different masks, a desperate attempt to hide her true nature. It is enough, for some, but others continue to gaze upon her with scrutinizing eyes.

She knows they don’t want her, they want Sister,

…but Sister is nowhere in sight. 

She is alone,

exposed,

her hope slipping into oblivion.

Without Sister, without the protection of her other half, she is lost. 

Hidden in the warm green woods of this wondrous world of light, Sister sleeps on a bed of moss.

Sister is the lightness and strength that serves as a shield to protect and nurture the darkness, a guardian and angel that views her with kindness, love, and compassion.

Sister does not remember when the irksome fingers of fatigue crept in, for she is rarely tired, her light is ever bright, burning, eternal. Sister knows only optimism, beauty, and hope. 

Sister is the keeper of the child and her wakefulness the key to the child’s slumber.

When Sister retreats to the bed of moss the child is forced out into the daylight, to stumble and wander through a world that is beyond her comprehension, a world where nothing feels safe, where pain lurks around every polished corner.

The child hurts with the sharpness of broken glass.

And even then Sister finds the child more beautiful than the purest sunrise, hot red against the virgin blue skies.

My heart weeps for her, the child of darkness, for I am the light that now sleeps, the eternally bright Sister that has grown tired and weak, the joy and resilience that requires rest. 

I won’t be long, but for her it will feel like an eternity.

It will be difficult but necessary for our growth and rebirth, for I am also the child. And take comfort in the simple knowledge that this time, I woke with the rain.