Easter Sounds Like Raindrops
Reprinted from Easter 2014.
Easter morning. Rise and rain.
Cloudbursts of sea magic and showers of ocean sighs greet me on this Easter Sunday. I’m in my cozy nest in Santa Barbara, enjoying rain (gentle), music (birdsong), and hot tea (Irish).
Earlier I video chatted with my sister Katie and niece Maggie, whose new best friend is a big purple rabbit. My dear friend Emmylou just called me from the road, on a tour bus filled with band members and dogs. Texts arrive from beloved friends afar.
Later I will connect with friends and share a meal. Now, in the twilight of the holiday, I feel shrouded in silence. The morning now feels empty.
I am alone.
Solitude and silence settles in my heart. I begin traveling down memory lane, recalling Easter’s past. North Carolina Moravian sunrise services with Kern and his parents in Old Salem; the brass band charming sun from her sleep. Easter egg hunts in Nashville, with pink peonies spying near the sidewalk. Sunday dinners in Charlotte, Iowa at Great Aunt Ruth’s house, with loved ones who have long since faded from time. Easter 1989, my senior year at Saint Mary’s College, and last time my mother made me an Easter basket. She passed Valentine’s Day 1990, and I can’t remember what we did that Easter as a family mourning her.
Comforting and familiar, those memories are all reflected in the rain that is now falling. This Easter rain is gentle reminder of the resurrecting power of love.
There are no tears over what or who has passed, only raindrops. And the eternal promise of rainbows and life everlasting.
In the quietness of my home, I encounter my breathing. I listen. Sacred breath beckons me to the heart space. After a few minutes, breath becomes both a comforting psalm and sacred devotion. In the harbor of my heart, between the waves of inhalations and exhalations, I settle into haven of the silent pause.
Sheltered between my breaths, light emerges from the space between my breaths. The sacred pause. In this present moment, I am no longer standing vigil over yesterday. being tempted by tomorrow.
My breath saves me once again, from the depths of past haunts, and deaths of future taunts.
Free from the traps of wistfulness, my breath and I waltz to the resurrection of present moment. Here, silence sounds like raindrops. Like Maggie’s giggle. Like Emmy’s singing. Like Aunt Ruth’s laughter. And my mother’s voice calling my name- Kellen Celeste. A voice I heard in her womb, which still echoes beyond her tomb.
As my breath harmonizes with the raindrops, echoes from the past fade, and reverb from the future clears. No longer deaf to the present, Easter sounds like raindrops. Angel birdsong choirs gently sing reminders of love everlasting.
In the solitude of my coastal sanctuary, I am completely surrounded by love of family, friends, and God. There is no separation of here or there; past or future; life or death…when I return to Love.
Love shines through. Always and in all ways. Whether it’s reaching beyond distant miles, breaking through rainy mornings, or reaching beyond the realms of death, love dawns with each breath.
It’s still raining. The house is quiet. Embraced in the stillness of this present moment, I settle into contentment’s arms.
Listening to my heart, a trio of voices sing to me. They remind me I am not alone. And that I am all One.
One with Katie, Maggie, Emmy, and other loved ones in Tucson, Nashville, and Michigan. And with my mother, Aunt Ruth and others who have dimmed from time, yet resurrected by love, are reflected in the raindrops.
Easter morning rains.
Rise and shine.