Of Lightning and Thunder…
A tale of stillness that contradicts with the violence of lightning itself…
Today is a hot day, so hot that I decided to go lay down for an afternoon nap. Surprised I was to awake and find the sun gone and the sky a darker and more ominous shade of blue. A blue that flows like waves and ripples in water, a beautiful rhythm.
The change of sky came with a disturbance in the air. The rain came, a light summer rain (though it is not yet summer), falling gently from the sky. The rain carries the smell of fresh earth. I have always loved the smell of rain, though I am fearful of lightening. This fear was reignited this afternoon when thunder sounds came through.
It is quiet, due to loadshedding. One has no other option but to listen, to be still. This reminds me of when I was a child. Lightening and thunder occurred regularly in the province where I was born and raised. There were such strange notions around it, things like:
- No eating during lightening storms
- No eating of Amasi (or white coloured foods)
- All mirrors must be covered
- No earrings
- No TV
What was important was the practice of silence, of presence. We needed to be still, so that we could hear the thunder, so that we could see the lightening. I believe that our people of old believed that the skies could converse with us, tell us things… And that is why we needed to be still, so that we could hear, absorb and feel. I was a child then but I am an adult now. An adult thinking about all that was lost when natives were uprooted from their lands, stripped of all they had and our community, our culture during the oppressive systems of Apartheid. We do not know how to converse with the skies, how to listen and truly be part of the world (seen and unseen).
In the end, just when I thought it wouldn’t, the sun bid us farewell for the day, in the most spectacular fashion… A reminder of beauty and life…
