The Storm

(From “A Tempestade”, in Ebrael.)

Your life has been pretty good, as if it was rest and fresh water. You go out for working, wearing your ever lined suit (or not), drive your car along the highway, with no hurry. You’re not hasty, since, apparently, all is right.

The opposite is possible, too. You may be unemployed at this time, a few months or for more than one year. You work on odd jobs to pay for your light & water bills, as well ad for that Plasma TV set you have achieved in a Federal Revenue auction for too low price.

Then, suddenly, the weather changes. That butcher calendar of early year, nailed to the wall, shake violently and gives you a sign. Times are changing. The problem is that you have got used to the lace under the palm trees or the trash can like meal source. Yes, what’s coming up is a hell of a storm!

Thus, if you fall, more or less, in the first case, the fresh water gets brackish; the shadow extends until dawn; the power is cut due to unpaid bills . Your lace is torn from the wall, showing you that everything must change. If the dumb can come to talk, why could you not change?

The Storm is approaching alarmingly. Your clothes are on the line and your household windows remain wide open, unconcernedly. Those bomb-drops rain over his forehead, reminding you that your wife has left you. The alimony of your son was not paid because you squandered the money in private feasts and you’ve spent out the latest quota of unemployment insurance. “Is anybody alive there?” – Ask, in unison, raindrops in hail. You sputter and utter some profanities.

On the other side of town, a farmer who no longer planted for not as being unable to repay bank loans, is now doing odd jobs and collecting recyclable materials to grant, at least, the daily bread. The storm rays surprise him violently, exploding an electrical transformer and, mysteriously, clearing the mind of that tormented man of sorrows. His wife puts up with, though doesn’t live without him. The dog endures him, though doesn’t stay away from his feet. The neighbors do not support him, although with fear.

About his private orchard, measuring just over two hectares, it rains for a whole night. In the morning, a Sunflower, which passed unnoticed throughout his life, blooms and looks at the Sun. As if by magic, all that dry and desolate grass becomes a screen of green and golden tones under the ecstatic tears of dawn.

Can the lucky man resist his fall? Will the farmer resist his fate and learn his hard lesson? Weird lessons are of both:

  1. There is nothing eternal or permanent;
  2. The Sun rises for everyone, rich and poor, wolves and sheep.

For the first of them, the Storm was a warning and a teacher. For the farmer, salvation and hope. For the Sunflower, that Storm looks like an invitation to fertilize this land of mine. For me, it sounds like the sovereign power of Life that animates everything and brings Love.

But the Storm subsides. All are impressed with the Power of Change that the it brings them. The lazy man feels relieved. The farmer, grateful, admires the horizon. The Sunflower follows the course of the Sun. But, still, the Storm gets missed. Our loins want to feel the lash of that barrage of water. Our faces don’t accept that the smell of rain is gone. Heart chases, distant, that huge cloud and that swirling wind which snatches us.

Just for it to appear in the records out there.


Published by

Júlio [Ebrael]

Brazilian. Amateur poet. Conservative and Gnostic Christian. Permanently unmarried, not disposable. // Brasileiro. Poeta amador. Conservador e cristão de visão gnóstica. Permanentemente solteiro, não disponível.//

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