It was late. The rain that was
spoken of had not arrived. Some souls said that the forecast had changed and
this in fact was true. The torrential precipitation that was to begin in the
early night had been called off. Yet, after the good day with family and
friends both, - and the no-rain during the regular evening, - something
happened…
Thunder erupted from the
firmament. It echoed for about fifteen minutes. The impression it gave was of a
cymbal crashing, yet still with a more ‘further down’ sound than a higher pitch
of any sort. The animals were concerned. Perhaps one of the dogs, we thought,
before becoming a rescue animal, - had been out in such storms.
Alone.
Uncared for.
Horrifically amazed.
Wet and matted.
A truly lost soul.
Or, it could have been the
regular worry and fright than any young sentient being might feel in the
begging or duration of nature’s power and prowess. They gathered close, and the
radio sounds played, a speaker talking to a group about forests and national
parks where strange occurrences and disappearances had happened.
Those were the sounds. The
thunder and the speaker. Then flashes of light from the sky made it to seem
like something was flicking on an outside switch. I think some of the animals
tried at those instances to go under the covers. The rain came down and
pattered at the glass, the rooftops, the pavers below, and more.
The rain came down and pattered
and splattered the world.
For hours it stayed like that.
I dreamed that Osho was eating a
meal and was eating this meal slowly, determinately, and at his own pace.
Previously I had dreamed that Osho had had a bad year early on- scarce,
unknown, having to wait it out in his own way.
These dreams these dreams these
dreams. If the animals dreamed a dream, I do not know what it or they were. I
always imagine, however, that they chase a rabbit across a meadow.
And it they could just get to
it, they must think, they could go back to the side of their master as all
would be right and well…
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