Walking in the rain

... from a notebook I kept on a week's solitary retreat in Scotland

The Real

Today what is real is the rain, bucketing down so everywhere’s drenched. Even the poor greenfinches, grey and bedraggled, look as if they could do with a good rub and a seat near the radiator. There’s nothing for it though – I need some air. I layer myself up like Noah braced for the flood and walk out in it, down the hill and across the road, down the next hill, till I come to the loch. A drop more water won’t make any difference.

The rain splashes seem to leap up rather than down, and the ripples float across the shallow waves, lines and circles, drops and chains colliding. In every direction so much is happening, the glen a crucible for weather and time and what they bring out in each other. I stand and watch like a witness at a wedding nobody knows.

Even though they’re half-drowned, the orange roses someone left a few days ago burn bright in the dark water. The lambs find shelter wherever they can – five of them cower shivering in the nook of a hollow oak. Dōgen says the entire universe is one bright pearl. If he was here, he’d say the entire universe is one raindrop falling.

For want of anything better to do, I walk the narrow channels of the labyrinth, picking my way between wet stones and sheep shit. I wasn’t asking but one of the stones tells me You are Loved. Then after another curve and back, Free Gaza. I’m not here to argue. I keep on walking back-and-forth, round and round, letting the path take me, glad not to be the one making decisions. Another stone calls out Milo was Here. Wherever he is now, I hope Milo is well. I hope he’s happy in his life. But he’s gone as quickly as he came and I’m a long way out, dizzy and rolling. I could be in that ark now, listening for the voice of God, raindrops pattering on my hood, ringing wetly right through me. I have to keep looking down in case I stumble on a stone or, there he is again, Milo – I send him a friendly wave.

When I reach the heart of it, the big omphalos stone is black and shiny and I stand beside it, my whole body pulsing in solidarity. I’m barely a metre from where I started but so much has happened: love and justice, a new friend, the grace of having two good legs to carry me, the rain, the rain, the rain.

It seems a pity I have to retrace my steps, go back the way I came, unravelling all that surrender and undividedness. The thing about labyrinths is there’s no place to shelter. You can’t stay inside forever. The rain will follow you wherever you go.

And it does. I trudge back up the hill, the rain getting more real every minute, and I know we’re in this together.

Thanks for reading.

L

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