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Life Arts    H4'ed 7/8/22

The house of the rain followed by some thoughts on its writing

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Rain
Rain
(Image by Anna & Michal)
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What house are we in?
In the house of the rain.


Yes, here once again,
In the house of the rain.


Here we speak plain
In the house of the rain.


Rest our brain
In the the house of the rain.


Lay to rest our pain
In the house of the rain.


Need not explain
In the house of the rain.


Trust this refrain:
In the house of the rain.

.........

In this poem, which reminds me of poems I wrote when it just dawning on me that I was a real poet (age 15, 16), I am inviting readers into my psychic house "of rain". It reminds me of the poetry of some of my Green Mountain College students (written after a night of stoned partying or weathering an existential crisis) many of whom found or formed their own communities to "see them through". It is a kind of poetry that is all heart. I am writing in the third person "we" because I am acknowledging that I am not alone but I am in a community of kindred spirits. I am referring to the OpEd virtual community of writers. After writing this ,and realizing that I was influenced by Grateful Dead's "Box of Rain", it occurred to me that the loyal followers of the Grateful Dead were a kind of family or community of kindred spirits, which encouraged the G Dead to write from the heart, from a vulnerable place, which is evident in the lyrics of this song which has played in my head through the years.

"A Box of Rain":

Look out of any window
Any morning, any evening, any day
Maybe the sun is shining
Birds are winging or rain is falling from a heavy sky

What do you want me to do
To do for you to see you through?
For this is all a dream we dreamed
One afternoon long ago

Walk out of any doorway
Feel your way, feel your way like the day before
Maybe you'll find direction
Around some corner where it's been waiting to meet you

What do you want me to do
To watch for you while you're sleeping?
Then please don't be surprised
When you find me dreaming too

Look into any eyes you find by you
You can see clear through to another day
Maybe it's been seen before through other eyes
On other days while going home

What do you want me to do
To do for you to see you through?
It's all a dream we dreamed
One afternoon long ago

Walk into splintered sunlight
Inch your way through dead dreams to another land
Maybe you're tired and broken
Your tongue is twisted with words half spoken and thoughts unclear

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Gary Lindorff is a poet, writer, blogger and author of several nonfiction books, a collection of poetry, "Children to the Mountain" and a memoir, "Finding Myself in Time: Facing the Music" Over the last few years he has begun calling (more...)
 

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