I woke up in the middle of the night believing that I was still in the USA. Disoriented, I was overcome by sadness and melancholy. I missed my friends. I missed the soft, impossibly high bed, and even the lumpy, sparsely cushioned old couch that I’d rested upon for a month. I missed The Promenade, the pier, and the ocean. However, I mostly missed my recently departed friend Martin Zweiback. I forced myself to go back to sleep.
Later, when I woke again, I was clearly in Thailand. My senses instantly alerted me to that fact. It had rained – albeit very lightly and all too briefly, but nevertheless an unmistakably Asian-scented, big-drops of rain.
The first rains of the year (or even hints of them), are always holy “Hallelujah” moments. By about mid-May, every part of one’s being not only groans in response to the weather but has managed to become it. Hellishly hot, humid, unbearably heavy and uncomfortable, we wait…. moody, silent, in solidarity, for the breaking of waters in order to birth a long overdue child.
Today’s little drizzle was not a tease, but rather a promise that she’d soon return in earnest with a troop of friends to sojourn a good while. Her pungent earthy calling card also reassured me I was truly home, and that there was a season and time for everything! A time to weep, a time to laugh….a time to return home!
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.