Bring your rain boots.

If I close my eyes I can be there. I can stand in the rain. I can lift my head, open my eyes, watch it fall towards me. Thousands upon thousands of rain drops falling from a dark, grey, nothing. Falling down in unrehearsed perfection. Falling with individual purpose. With necessity. Every raindrop--alone. And I can be surrounded, with coldly limited empathy, by beautiful, crystal globes...

I love subways. I love watching the colors, the spectrum of people. People always seem a bit more, I don't know, human? In confined spaces. Not much place to hide yourself, I suppose. I should probably listen to the sounds in the subway more. Right now, I don't think I could rightly describe them. I usually have my ipod on. It disconnects me. I feel like I can be invisible. I can just watch, you know? Like my own little movie with my own soundtrack and I don't have to be part of it. Sometimes I kind of wonder where I go. I imagine somewhere similar to a "man-cave" in the corner of my mind and whenever I check out--I must go there. Maybe there's a beanbag chair. Maybe a popcorn machine. Maybe not--actually popcorn doesn't sit well with me. I'm sure there is something worth my time though, I mean, I think I go there often.

Empathy would be kinder of me. I stand, instead, selfishly immersed in observing; taking, stealing, peace from what might be a very private event for a raindrop. It is, of course, inevitable. Every raindrop must face that moment of contact with the earth. It's so small, that single raindrop, in the thousand upon thousands. It is so fragile, so important and still so insignificant. But it exists, and it does so on its own. Is it at peace? Is it afraid? Did it want to fall? Did it have a choice? Did it accept it's fate? Or is it desperately trying to suspend its self in the unsupportive and unmoved atmosphere? Alone in space and alone with space and then me, invading the vulnerable moment...

Talking to people is always a strange thing to me. I mean, hah, no, don't get me wrong, I very much enjoy a good conversation. And good conversation doesn't have to be deep, right, it doesn't have to be about anything significant. Not in my book. Naw, some of the best conversations I've had are usually about things that really, are quite insignificant in my daily life. Weird studies like how different drugs affect spiders. New Youtube viral videos. Funny words and names, like "crumpet" or "pussy willow". Gum. A lot of good conversations about food, come to think of it. But anyway, my point is, I can't help but picture everyone in these conversations, myself included, as one of those creepy talking dolls. You know, like, Charlie McCarthy? There, something for you to google. And I'll be talking, or moving my mouth at least, and get that Charlie McCarthy image in my head and mid-sentance, I'll have to laugh. During that laugh, that's when the doll image disappears, and I'm there, in that laugh. And I immerse myself in its warm, bubbling, peach colored cloud, naked in spirit. Of course, when I look back up at the faces of my fellow conversationalists, it is apparent, the doll was more suitable for practical reason. Naked anything tends to make most people a bit uncomfortable. Sometimes...sometimes I've had "naked conversations". Like the ones that take place on kitchen floors at 3 o'clock in the morning. A bag of Sun-Chips pushed to the side. The kitschy, yellowing tile is pocked with mini-marshmallows from that tossing game earlier. Wine glasses that haven't been touched for awhile. It's quiet. Maybe there's a clock. But time isn't there. Naked moments. Vulnerable. We talk about our parents. About that person. About a thought that won't leave our heads. About this old necklace. About the things in between. We laugh, and we immerse ourselves, and we look up, and we are humans, fully.

When I shut my eyes, and open them again, I can watch the rain drops shatter. I can watch a single drop explode. Reverberate back up on impact, and splinter into different pieces. Shattering, scattering, exploding, delicately, before falling and resting back to the ground. More shattering, more fragmenting, smashing to bits. It is a minefield. And I can only look on, helpless. I can feel each explosion on my hands, on my face, in my eyes. I can blink, and make another. I'm standing in a war zone. I hadn't realized. There is devastation in the fate of every small drop. I don't want to see this. I don't want to realize it.

I'm in a Starbucks right now. Okay, I know, I know, couldn't I find anywhere a bit more inspirational? To be honest--my pumpkin spiced americano keeps me pretty damn happy. And there's a nice window so that when I take a sip and look up from my computer, I can look at things going on outside. Right now, there's a man sitting on the sidewalk across the street, leaning against a neon lit sign for an Economax, some currency exchange bureau. He's holding a ball cap in one hand, and the other is clutching at the sleeve of his jacket. It's cold out. Poor guy. He's removed his scarf. Better suited as a cushion. Oh, he does have a cigaret. That's good. Not that smoking is good or anything, but, I'm glad he's got one. I wonder if he's ever had a naked conversation on a kitchen floor. He's standing up. Walking over the the McDonalds window. He's looking inside. He's going back to his neon lit sign. He's rewrapping the scarf around his neck. Yeah, it's cold. When I look at him, I don't see any Charlie McCarthy, I'll tell you that. I feel helpless. Kind of like I'm in a warzone. Maybe he's the bi-product of a raindrop. Maybe he's a fragment that has exploded, and has yet to settle. Maybe he's no more or less settled than the rest of us. It's not really something anyone can determine except for himself. For his sake, I hope he doesn't see himself as a raindrop. I hope he's not feeling fragmented. I hope, even if it is in ignorance, he feels part of a whole, and not alone in the least. But..with.

When I close my eyes, when I'm in a subway, when my music is on, when I laugh, I go to where I can stand in the rain. I don't go to some man-cave like cavern of my mind. I go to a mind-field. It's more like reality that I initially thought. But funny thing, rain. Every drop on its own. And those explosions. Nature leaves no choice. But maybe there is something to be learned here. And I think (now, I'm going to start putting on rain boots as I explain. I recommend you do the same here), I think that I've been distracted by the raindrops. They're each existing in their own nakedness and, it really shouldn't concern me. But what happens after, after the impact, after the fragmentation...there is a connection. There is something created, a puddle, a lake, an ocean. There is something whole. Where many become one, become equal. Are your rain boots on yet? We are all like rain drops. There is a time when we are, whether we want to be or not, falling alone. There will, inevitably, also be a moment of impact--where things and life and our individual ideas of existence, it all just shatters into many, many, different pieces. And then there is peace. There is the realization that everyone around us is falling and crashing and breaking too. Perhaps we can unite, and connect, and become part of a whole. A whole that might not be perfect, but there is perfection within it. Like a murky puddle. Now do you understand why I had you put those boots on? What a beautiful, imperfect, murky, muddy puddle of rain...

Close your eyes. I'll close mine. On the count of three, we'll open them, and you and I--we can stand in the rain. And you and I, we're going to splash in the puddles.

One....two...three...open your eyes....