The Sublime Nature of a Storm

Last night, I found myself navigating south along the freeway towards Mexico.  The freeway was dark and lonely.  And despite sharing the route with other vehicles, they seemed distant, even invisible.  I blame it on the rainstorm that raged outside my car.

 The night sky was shrouded by black clouds and lightning lit the sky in strange, random intervals, as thunder rumbled dangerously in the distance.  I found myself awed by the darkness, awed by the presence of nature and its omnipotence—the massive, dark obelisk-like buildings of Los Angeles bizarrely inconsequential. It was humbling, this darkness with its pounding rain, rumbling threats and piercing daggers of light.

My human-ness. My desires. My loves and greatest accomplishments.  All faded into a greater mosaic that swallowed me as surely as if I’d been devoured by a Kraken. I felt distinctly small. Meaningless—as though my passing here is merely a spec in the boundless sea, and that I am merely transient, unnoticed and uncared for by time.  It was frightening.

And Beautiful.

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