THE SOUL’S STORM
It struck me every day
The lightning was as new
As if the cloud that instant slit
And let the fire through.
It burned me in the night
It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
With every morning’s beam.
I thought that storm was brief,—
The maddest, quickest by;
But Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky.
~ Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson needs no introduction, and the poem above is from her book Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete.
Last night, I turned to Emily Dickinson again. What is it with this woman? In any case, the book was already turned to the poem above, “The Soul’s Storm”, when I reached for it. Call that a coincidence! Because I don’t know what it is.
But I believe, in this case, I had to revisit the word “storm” and truly learn the meaning of it. You see, the word recently came up in a discussion/conversation, and I think I romanticized the word and gave dignity it doesn’t deserve this time. Because…
“I thought that storm was brief,—”
The line above captures exactly what I had in mind, when I said “the storm doesn’t last…there’s always a rainbow.” How shallow does this sound, when I didn’t know where the storm was blowing from! So, now I say, “Fuck the storm!”
“[For] Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky.”
But, what is a storm? It is a tempest of words rising against pain to paint the sky with rainbows.
special note: Yesterday I heard some shocking news from a friend, and this poem by Emily Dickinson is shared in support. I’m also linking this post to Trinkets and Armor 4: Life Can’t Smack You Powerless, If You Keep Your Self at the Ready