Blame it on the Rain

It started raining this morning while I was meditating.

I could hear the big drops of rain falling off the oak tree leaves and hitting the stone pathway in the back yard. Glop. Glop. Glop. These sounds, combined with the falling rain hitting the roof, contributed to the general soothing din that happens during a passing Texas deluge. The old timers here like to say that, “we have only two kinds of rain in Texas…too much or too little. Heh.” But this morning’s rain wasn’t too much or too little. It was exactly the right amount for the soul of a man who wanted to think.

Rain is perfect background white noise for contemplating.

And today finds me doing just that. When the mind “contemplates”, you are usually thinking about the past or the future. If you’re fully in the present, you’re just there. Being present is a form of meditation which is “no mind.” But contemplating is something else entirely. So while I failed at meditation, I passed at contemplation.

Rain, for me anyway, has a way of making me think of times past. Especially memorable past rainstorms.

This morning's rain made me think about the first time we were in Italy. We had spent most of the day traveling along the Amalfi coast and had spent the afternoon and early evening in picturesque Positano eating and drinking our way across the little town. But we had to get back to Sorrento to catch our ship. It was late in the evening, I think it was about 9 or 10pm. The ship didn't leave until something like 2am, but we still had to somehow get back to Sorrento where the ship was anchored. We had long since missed the last ferry, so we walked up the hill to the bus stop. And as we walked up to the main road, we realized that, due to the late hour, we’d be lucky to get on the last bus of the day. That’s when the deluge started. A heavy downpour, in the dark, in a foreign country, standing in a crowd of cold, frustrated people. At least we had a small umbrella with us which managed to keep the top of our heads dry. Kind of.

So there were were, waiting for the last bus back to Sorrento in the rain.

If that bus was full, we would be in a bind. And the colorful Italian taxi drivers knew it. They stood just down the street from us, trying to scare the tourists by occasionally calling like a carnival barker. They were yelling things like, "there won't be another bus tonight!" Or "the last bus will be full and you'll need to take a taxi. I can take you right now!" (They had a point)

I knew they were poised to gouge us, but I was curious what they would charge. So I spoke to one of the cab drivers and asked what he would charge for a ride back to Sorrento. I don't remember the numbers, but, as expected, the guy quoted me an outrageous rate. Something like 20X what I knew it normally would be. At least what it normally would be if we weren’t standing in a crowd, in the rain, waiting for the last bus of the day. Uber certainly didn’t invent surge pricing. (This story took place pre-Uber)

Nevertheless, we decided to take our chances with the bus.

So, after waiting about 30 minutes in the pouring rain - we were completely drenched at this point - the bus pulled up.

Then, somehow, a miracle happened. Everyone waiting for the bus fit inside. Just barely. It was standing room only. P and I were standing in a crowd of tired, wet, sweaty people: a beautiful mix of tourists and locals - the locals had all the seats - and that pungent mass of standing humanity somehow turned the vibe into a slight party atmosphere, at least for the standing tourists. Of course, that could also have been the fact we were all on holiday and had been drinking Italian wine all day. I doubt that it felt like a party to tired locals riding home after work.

So we embraced the bella chaos as the bus wended it's way toward Sorrento. It made a few stops and, as the locals slowly departed for their homes, P and I soon found ourselves with a cozy seat and an occasional view of the dark Mediterranean and the sparkling lights of Sorrento in the distance as the bus wound back and forth down the mountain.

Somehow, we’ve since discovered on subsequent visits, when on the Amalfi coast, things just sort of work out how they're supposed to, even when things go wrong. And that night was no exception.

A peal of lightening flashed and loud a thunder boom yanked my mind back to the present.

I finished my “meditation”, stared out the window at the rain for a few more minutes, thought about Positano and, with a smile, slowly made my way to my computer to being my day.