The sheets of rain lash down, almost maniacal in their resolve to pound everything in the way.
The lightning flashes blindingly. For a split second, there is silence, followed by the booming thunder nearby.
The water pounds and pounds. The thunder rumbles. The lightning comes again.
The storm is hitting my windshield and the wipers struggle to move the water. Their back and forth motion is hypnotic — and I wonder whether the storm I feel and hear and fear is really outside — or if it’s inside my heart.
It’s dark and it’s loud and it’s gloomy. The storm outside the car threatens me physically, but the storm inside threatens something far deeper. Far more existential. It’s pounding on my very core again.

GAME: Can you find names of the last 20 commenters on this site?
I’m looking at myself in mirror and asking difficult questions
Lesson from U2: Rejection doesn’t necessarily mean it’s time to give up
Lives change in moments of truth when we stop lying to ourselves
Totalitarians want to seize your cash as the moral rot continues
Wishful thinking: Why Ron Paul can’t (and won’t) be elected president
Friend’s happy family and career remind me how good life can be
VIDEO: Peaceful river reminds me we often miss the peace we crave
Noise of culture isn’t evil, but it drowns out what really matters