when the rain comes from the moon,
everything that was once closed opens.
everything that was tight and wounded flows freely away.
thoughts quiet as if they never existed.
we awaken to breathlessness experience.
we mourn and rejoice at the same time.
we are told everything we've been waiting to hear, silently.
everything surrenders.

there is an ancient legend, some say from indonesia, of a tribe of people that came to inhabit earth. they were isolated together on earth for so long that they forgot that they had all come from the same place. they began to fear and hate one another. they wasted their energy for selfish and protective means. generation after generation, they fell deeper into their collective turmoil.

but as all cycles are continuous, the rain fell from the moon as it always has. the sweet, invisible nectar touched the foreheads of the people, spilling down their faces in tears, fading the fear from their hearts. the rain is absolutely silent, but contains whispers of wisdom. it dissolves time.

it will always fall, but like the weather, it falls on its own will, on a rhythm we can only sometimes predict and will never understand. but when it does come, whether in the slightest mists or the most blessed torrents, we feel it and rejoice inside that it has once again returned.