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.

We need loving communities so we can know, ‘You’re not alone’
Am I betraying the truth if I don’t preach to the converted each day?
Is ‘galvanic skin response’ a way to measure how much kids learn?
All I wanted was to be your hero, but I still haven’t found my way
Slow death of painful past leaves me trapped in fog of depression
How do we protect innocent and still keep peace in civil society?
California pays $205,075 to move shrub that typically sells for $16