I woke up to the sound of rain tapping on my bedroom window. After months of blistering one hundred-degree weather, I was relieved to hear the rain falling and filling the cracked and scorched Texas soil. Growing up in Lorena, Texas, on my parents' 20 acres, I have many memories of looking down into seemingly endless darkness from foot-long cracks in the soil after long periods of drought. When the rain would finally come, those cracks would fill with water, and I would watch them transform from a wound cut open by drought to a lush patch of grass.

​The pattern of opening up and closing is one I find myself meditating on this morning. Like the cracked soil, I often feel ripped open and stranded in a desert without water. During these periods of drought, I always feel as if something is being birthed in me. Whether it's a new idea that connects seemingly disconnected points into a recognizable shape or a retrospective realization that incorporates an outlier event into my acceptance and understanding, the time between recognizing the cracks in the soil of my being and the moment when the rain fills the void and bridges the gap has always been agonizing for me. Waiting for something is difficult, not only because I live in a society where instant gratification, overconsumption, overproduction, and quantity over quality are the status quo, but also because, as a narcoleptic, time and energy are fleeting and always in a deficit. To wait for something to come to fruition takes a toll on me. I often do not have the time or energy to sit and explore the depths of my internal world to deduce my birth pains because my medication wears off, and I cannot make any productive progress in that state.

However, this morning, I was reminded that I cannot control the rain. I often want to control the process to figure out why I am in a drought and have a wound gaping in my consciousness. But, I know I have never controlled when the rain fell and filled the cracks in my life. In reality, I have come to realize through my reflection this morning that it is often when I let go and allow the wound to be what it is without trying to change it that the rain comes when I least expect it, like on a walk, in a conversation with a friend, or while playing with my cats.

May the rains in your life bring you healing and refreshment,

​Matthew Palmer