Monsoon Hour

You are safe watching the birth of a monsoon from a high hill overlooking the Patti terraces. Behind you, a home of strong wood worn smooth by its many years of service as refuge from seasons such as this stands quiet and steadfast. Lanterns like wonder-filled eyes glow from its windows. You can almost feel their shadow plays tickling your back. It is evening and the rains are coming. It's time to put down the day and prepare for rest. To help us make the most of this special time, I think it's nice to begin with a little wind down. Tonight's wind down is a breathing exercise. So, when you're ready, let's begin. First, get comfortable in your bed. Now, just bringing the attention to the breath, just noticing where you feel it. In the nose, the throat, the chest, the diaphragm. You're nice and relaxed. We're going to be taking a deep breath in for four, holding it for four, and then breathing out for six. So, are you ready? Let's begin. In for four. Two, three, four. Hold it for four. Two, three, four. Now breathing out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. In for four. Two, three, four. Holding for four. Two, three, four. Out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. In for four. Two, three, four. Holding for four. Two, three, four. Out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. In for four. Two, three, four. Holding for four. Two, three, four. Out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. Great. Now returning the breath to normal. You're inside the house, watching from the window with a hand-woven wrap around your shoulders and a hot cup of tea. The wooden floor beneath you is vibrating softly. From incense sticks placed in a few corners of the house, smoke curls up, then dissipates like thoughts. You can see the sky churn overhead, the kinetic darkness expanding and contracting around its veins of silver. You can make out the world only in flashes like the work of memory. An elongated moment of brightness reveals the patty terraces, deep squares cut into the soil, now filled with water sparkling like huge diamonds as they spill out of the horizon. The moment passes and the world goes dim again, save for the flickering of lanterns and their halos of moths. You learn to see with your ears and your skin to discern paths in space from the mundane sounds that accentuate the ebb and flow of the monsoon's eternal, muted roar. The drip dripping of water into a bucket you placed under a small leak in the next room. The steam from the cup in your hands engraved with the image of a rooster you can trace with your fingers. The fans spinning its blades overhead, merging its hum to the percussion of water on leaves. With each roll of thunder, the barely perceptible clink of china stacked in the kitchen cabinet. Your own feet tapping on...