Kiss the rain?
Precipitate your sense of wonder
October 31, 2007
Ben Linkewich
Stephen Colbert is running for President and scientists, perennially on the lookout for party tricks, have discovered the enzyme that can create extra eyes in frogs; they are hoping to be able to grow human eyes “in a dish.” Much as these things – and indeed life itself - bring about a sense of giddy joy in a sensible person, there is one thing capable of doing so at virtually any moment on this campus that is more omni-present than politics and science, more visceral and transitive, and much more transcendent of time, creed, and culture. Faith? No! Rain.
This past year, I have had many intimate experiences with the rain. Such encounters have ranged from the dismal fog-misting that arrives in September to the thunderous, sleety bullets with which only the most ominous clouds favour us. Two previous umbrellas of mine have been favoured, for they departed from my possession knowing they were loved, both having been given the “five-fingered discount” to Persons Unknown on campus. Thus, I found myself walking in the rain one day, in the otherwise merry month of October. Going between classes with my head naked to the raging heavens, I noticed a disturbing fact: my fellow students were walking either umbrellaed or grimacing with eyes downcast.
Professors, I noted, were ever the positive role-models, keeping their customary curiosity and etherealness. It’s not like they walk between the raindrops as if by some advanced training or a temporary switch to being intransitive. This may be a TWU phenomenon: our professors keep enough wonder at the world and absorption in their work that they notice not their absorption of the rain. Overall, such a response is just shy of being appropriate to the occasion.
So I asked: are these a happy campus?
Clearly, something is amiss among the student population. Should not the frowns be reversed? It’s not as if this rain should come as a surprise - it should come as a joy! Rain may not be recognized as the eighth sacrament as yet, but it is certainly a vehicle that acts to impart wonderment in the souls of all who experience it.
Thus the predicament of the umbrella users: they are using artificial technology to shield themselves from one of the rich blessings of God. Mary Poppins aside, the umbrella seems a detrimental nuisance. Indeed, Chesterton condemned the umbrella: “when closed, it is an inadequate walking stick; when open, it is an inadequate tent.” And here the rest of us umbrella-less souls are, awash in our favourite beverage, completely negligent of the joy this ought to bring.
As for those unencumbered by such artefacts, why the unhappiness? So it is cold and wet: these are the uncomfortable reminders that help you awaken and feel alive! So what if you were told that’s temporal discomfort or even an inconvenience? That’s an outright lie! From the splashes in your eyes to the saturation of your hair to the icy trickles down your neck and back, the rain increases your awareness tenfold and forces your mind off of the myriad petty stresses of semester life.
So arise! Look down upon the skies no longer. Cast aside your ineffectual shields and negligent scowls and rejoice in the kisses of the clouds upon us and the Earth, which transform our dull asphalted paths into mirrored halls of dazzling radiance and rinses our over-chemicaled heads with rivulets of purity. Run, if you must. Splash in puddles if you feel the urge. Throw the restrictions of the arid past to the winds. Professors and students may both contribute to this experience: students will share our youthful energy and vigour, they will share their wonderment, and harmony may yet abound. Let us therefore communally bathe in the joy poured forth upon the campus and revel, neither be-grimaced nor be-brellaed.
Now you go...
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