The flashes of lightning through the curtain. The rolling rumble and jabs of deep thunder.
The lightning again and again. There and there. Gone. There and there and gone there an‘ there again. The rolling noise of vibration sometimes a punch, sometimes a stroke, then a clap, and now a croak.
Time for a pee and a look outside. No rain spatters on window just light show and noise. Flush and rinse but no back to bed.
The spare bedroom looks out to the front. Looks north (and east or west if I crane my head). The sky lit up with paparazzi lights. East then south so moving away. Then west now north and rain on the road.
This power run free so vast and so explosive. This global show free of our man-whining borders. This engine of energy driving our hydration. This night-time twin of our day-time oven. Again and again the scalpel of light skitters around. Never touching the earth just dancing above. The sound of patters loud on the glass. Then drowned by a crash overcome and lulled. Then patters again.
Gentler the light and softer the noise. Moving elsewhere to wake another. Taking it’s clean shower for others to breathe easy. Silenter now as light still lights sky. Occasional rumble a more distant drumroll. Patters no more on window now clear. Just there and one more and darkness again.
I am taken back to a primitive time when bricks and mortar and timber slate glass were all words not invented nor constructions I knew. Where I laid my head much closer to all this. Where my living was connected with no pane of glass between me and it.
How then could I not invent gods of this mystery? How then not know something greater than I? This power of the day that burned my skin, this power of the night that drowned my sights? Coming as it will moving on as it must. Me a speck of dry – then damp – dust in its sight.
And I sit here now with computer and my desk-lamp. Dry and inside and watching this show end. Yet still connected with something of wonder. Still sensing that primal reaching yonder.
Something too big for mere small words. How …
No matter how far we walk in control, no matter how controlled we think we are, no matter this life of sophisticate knowledge, no matter how intellectual the ions and atoms, now matter how modelled the big data crunched …
When the sky is full of light and my innards vibrate?
I too bow down to something more than me. No name no faith no ritualised religion. No words no hymns no prayers no text.
With a sky full of light and my innards vibrate …