Now Available: Hurricane

It was a rainy day, much like today, when I wrote Hurricane.  I had gone down to the Waterfront in Portland to busk (street perform).  Rain is quite a common occurrence in Oregon, but this particular rainy day I found myself completely alone and wet.  So, I packed up, walked back to my car, and sat for awhile to see if the rain would subside.

I had bills to pay, so I was feeling rather discouraged with my empty tip jar.  I was also in a rough patch in a relationship, which meant that the loneliness I was feeling wasn’t simply from being out on the Waterfront (in the rain) all by myself.  I was empty and afraid.  Angry.  Confused.  Lost.

 

“He was a summer day, with the rage of a hurricane.”

Anger.  I don’t talk about it much, but it’s a huge piece of my story.  I was angry to my core.  There were times when I felt so hurt and out of control that I would drive through the night and scream until I would lose my voice.

When I wrote hurricane, I’d play it with my acoustic guitar.  It was a catchy, fun, folk-sounding song.  But now, the meaning of the words go much deeper.

I am no longer angry, so now I can hear the words.

“It’s strange how small the world becomes.  When the masks, when the masks fall . . .”

How often do we accuse others of the exact issues we ourselves are dealing with?  How often do we try to cope by becoming dependent on other imperfect people?

As the anger made way for clarity, I no longer saw myself as the lonely victim.  We were both victims to our own rage, our own painful baggage.  They were fallen just like me.  Wearing masks to cover up their true colors.  Smiling in the day, screaming and hiding under the cloak of night.

“Sometimes love becomes a blindfold.”

 

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