I am sitting writing this from the comfort of the inside, the warmth of a sunny day mocking me through the window. There is a slight haze gently brushing the leaves and somewhere a willow tree is shedding their catkin fur, gifting a suspended snow into the breeze.
My eyes close as I take a deep breath to contemplate my subject – the rain – and on opening them, dive into the wet depths of memory.
I am transported to warm summer rain, a smell like no other. It comes so readily, hot salty blossom earth, I feel sand between my toes and warmth on my shoulders. As I try to hold onto the feeling, calmed and kissed by the water, the rain evaporates as it hits my memory soil. An illusive balm and comfort. I remember too, the running for cover, the laughs and giggles, the thrill of the chase. The inevitable drenching followed by pure joy, a skin tingling feeling in knowing the wet will soon be dry. This rain is fun and carefree, and somehow seems to bring together. An ancient well, full of good luck charm. This rain feels part of memory and moment rather than an everyday, a sort of fairy tale vision that leaves me wondering, was it real?
Before I go any further, it feels important to confess my love for rain. The smell, the sound, it’s depth. It feels like a quintessential part of my bones that can’t be fully explained, a sort of seeping emotion that can be found in unexpected places. It isn’t always welcome, or happy, and on some days when defences seem futile – it can be absolutely miserable. But, in the most arid of deserts there always seems to be a mirage of it’s magic.
When working outside, in all weathers, the rain is an inevitable companion, as is the clothing that makes it possible. Most days this is without umbrellas and with glasses, which brings some frustrating consequences – not to mention muddy boots and bedraggled hair. The choices of how to navigate this can be interesting therapeutic tools. How prepared am I, the psychotherapist? And how, if at all, should I prepare you, the client? Do we sit in one place, sheltered, watching or do we walk as if there is no rain? Do we, together, look up and welcome them, as a character in the session, nature becoming a third in that moment and essential to our explorations. This dance of co-creation is the basis of building trust and a solid foundation.
Not all elements of nature will be relevant, conscious, or part of the therapeutic process, but the rain somehow makes itself known in a way like no other. I suppose then, it is important to hold in mind those days when the rain feels relentless, when that wet is also cold, perhaps even icy. The times when despite all your efforts, you end up soaked and wept. When the work of therapy feels hard and unrelenting. We all have those times, when we are not running from the rain in joy – but are desperate to get away – to find the dry and warmth. At times the droplets can feel like huge puddle weights reigning down, forcing us into needed retreat. As though one more moment will make us forget the existence of summer, and the dark will extinguish the light.
That paragraph felt heavy like the rain it describes. I want to also offer an alternative experience of that downpour – one that can shut out the things around and bring us into ourselves. When you stand in that rain, it can have an amazing effect of dampening external sounds out, creating a sort of roof under which you can be held. A reverse umbrella that can make space just for you, for us, to be within. To notice the shift its falling through sound alone, just stand still amongst our feelings and notice and they, like the rain, eventually ebb away.
As I look up from the keys, I notice grey clouds have rolled across the sky and there is a mist of uncertainty in the air. A slow drizzle begins and an underlying seep of questions floats around my mind waiting to be brought into being – just out of reach.