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My Power
The power of a storm is the ultimate expression of freedom, of the darkest desires of my own soul. The power in the storm and the fresh beauty of the war between rain, wind, fire, and thunder cuts to my heart with more than fear, more than terror, and it calls to me in a way that I can never quite identify. The thunder of a storm is a beckoning, and the lighting is the lamp to light my way, flashing only when it is needed before leaving me to stumble in darkness to the hole it leaves.
I can never run from the storm. The waves of thunder careen through the skies, echoing off the cliffs and bending the tops of trees as it crashes wildly in all directions. A single bolt of lighting releases a ripple of powerful, rolling, clamorous thunder that touches the world—and my soul—with an electrifying symphony, the drums of nature releasing their spell to descend upon those bound to feel it.
I hear the drums, and I feel their ancient magic. The rolling peals that crash—wave after wave—upon me set my heart alight, and it pounds against my ribcage, crying to be freed. I am drawn to the storm, and as a moth moves ever towards the steady light of a lamp, I am ever yearning to follow the lightning, to walk in its blasted path to find where it takes me. I yearn to follow the storm.
Yet where will it lead me? My heart beats wildly to find the place where the storms dance, where the lightning flashes in an endless play of light, sound, and crackling energy. Somewhere the rain always falls like it will drown the world, and the dangerous rhythm of the sky drums weaves its spell with each endless roar, folding upon itself and compounding the power that lies thick in the atmosphere. The air is layered with life, with vibrant, maniacal energy, and rejuvenation lies in the folds of the thunder’s song, in the slightest movement in the dance of lighting. There is a place somewhere were the dream is realized, and where the world twists and sings with terrible harmony, with the greatest song of the Universe. There is a place where the storms gather.
A form rises from the storm—dark, bright—an immense shadow formed of lightning. In my mind, it takes the shape of a black panther, looming in the storm clouds. His home is in that land, and I would forever love to see it, to be a part of the greatest call that nature devised. To join him would be to embrace death, but for that I must be forever distant with the storm.
Yet I know my soul and the storm are one.
There has never been a time when lighting did not send an electrifying chill down my body, when the thunder has never made my heart leap and dance for the power it has been shown. There was never a time when the music of the storm didn’t make my soul sing, or when I didn’t sit quietly, watching the rain pour its silken tapestry past my window. The storm is the freshest, most vibrant, most amazing song of the world, and I have never felt so alive as when a storm rages in the sky above me. It is the essence of my soul, and I know that if I was ever to walk in my heart, the sky above would be full of stars and the grand opera of the thunderstorm.
And the panther would be there, bellowing like the thunder and sparking lightning with each fall of his coated paws. Skyfire dances in his blue-silver eyes, gleaming wildly from his sleek coat of jet, proclaiming to the world his feral, untamed beauty. Such is the storm that he brings, that he creates and that surrounds him like an aura of power. His essence is the power of the storm, in all its glory.
And so the storm will pass, as the beast runs on, bringing his music and light to the gifted others who would follow it. One day I will go with him, to run with the storm and answer its summons, and I will not be alone. He will run beside me, and the storm will follow overhead, the lighting leading to the nexus of the thunder, where all will join in a wild display of the power they hold. Power that will one day join with me, when I follow the storm.
When I follow the storm.
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