The one – and possibly only – thing I miss about Florida is the rain. If you grew up in the sunny state of corruptible mayhem, you knew rain in all its forms: heavy and booming; soft and chiding; gentle and misting. Florida does rain right. For all its two seasons, rain is a constant. And for all the balmy humidity it brings, you can appreciate its daring consistency.
One of the things I love about rain is its audacity. It doesn’t knock or announce. It just arrives: on its own time, in its own way, when it feels the moment is right. It comes, and it nourishes but it also strengthens by virtue of its rigidity. Because no matter how rain falls – softly, gently, gradually, or all at once – it is nature’s grower. Your just isn’t to question it, but to let it wash over you and the land in whatever form it takes. Listening to it – heeding it – makes you stronger. Wiser. Healthier.
It is exactly this that makes rain the perfect reflection of intuition. It comes – sometimes as a whisper, other times as a strong, booming declaration – to remind you of who you are. It is a universal declaration of intent: You need to remember. You need to pay attention. You need to listen to what you already know, instead of questioning what’s next.
On rainy days like today, the parallel between rain and intuition sings sharply. Heavy rains arrive on the threshold of spring, while dreamy Pisces season still chases languid circles in our heads. The world moves. But so, too, do our thoughts, patterns, and ambitions.
If the past month has taught me anything, it is that trusting your intuition is paramount. Even when impulse overtakes you, what you first detected will not lead you astray. It stays, right where you left it, allowing you to see clearly see a situation for all that it is.
I recently found myself leaping into a situation without much thought. This is abnormal for me, as I am a walking assessment: always cataloguing possibilities, and motives, and movements. Historically, this hadn’t worked for me because it lead to overthinking, doubt, and negative self talk. But for once, something felt right. Different. Instant in its clarity. There was something warm, and soft, and subtle that beckoned to me and said it was okay to jump. That I was right about a person. So, I cast the assessment aside like an old camp counselor’s clipboard and dove into something new. (The hypothetical clipboard landed somewhere near my clothes in this scenario.)
Unfortunately, the two of us weren’t on the same page. Not immediately, anyway. I was staring down the barrel of another romantic disappointment that I convinced myself was different because it had this undeniable momentum and reciprocation. The overthinking set it. I convinced myself I was wrong – that I leapt into something that ended before it could even begin. Embarrassment plagued me, but so did this needling feeling that I hadn’t been wrong about this situation. That there was potential there. I could feel it, see it, taste it, even. I just knew what I leaped into was right. So, why wasn’t reality showing that?
Guarded behavior ensued. A dance between two people who are stumbling over hard drawn boundaries and expectations. I certainly set mine and was unamendable to moving them. I knew what I wanted, saw, and felt. But the guarded behavior and mixed signals of the other party drew me to question everything. Was I so off base? Did I make a mistake? Did I need to reset my expectations?
Then, the rain set in. And just like truth, it brought an astounding clarity: this was an intuition test. Only, it wasn’t testing to see if I would “hang on” or “wait” for something to happen, it was gauging how well I could see to the truth of things, past the guardedness and signals. To the heart of what was.
The message was clear: Are you going to trust your intuition and stick by what you want? Or will be renege and make yourself smaller, as you always do?
Suddenly, there were blooming flowers at my feet, rising one by one, leaf by leaf. The air swam with that familiar freshness of springtime rain. There was still a heaviness – a longing – but there was a confirmation too, heralded by a bounty of 222s.
I suppose in the initial scenario, my intuition started as a trickling rain, which burst in a hurricane-force deluge, then into the deadly, war-torn silence that follows a tornado. But it was there. Ever present. Ever waiting. I merely had to listen to it and stand by what I saw and not be duped by doubt in the aftermath. Just because someone chooses not to walk your path or meet your expectations doesn’t mean you misread a situation or should change those expectations. You stand by what you felt, what you saw. Even if matters don’t unfold the way you wanted, your intuition is as right as the rain that sings its truth outside your window. Sometimes steady – sometimes softly, sparsely – but always there. Right as rain.
Soul Reads 
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