When music falls,
Our mindfulness practice with the sound of rain.
Some music isn't written.
It falls.
Perhaps today,
If you are somewhere safe and comfortable,
You might like to imagine opening a window.
Not to watch the world outside.
But to listen to all the things silence has been trying to tell you.
Whenever you are ready.
You can sit comfortably on a chair.
Or lie down with your hands and legs straight.
You can keep your eyes open or closed,
Whatever feels comfortable and welcoming.
There is something about rain.
It never asks for your attention.
It simply arrives.
One drop.
Then another.
Each finding its own place.
Its own rhythm.
Its own node.
There is no perfect pattern.
No rush to become a melody and somehow together it becomes music.
For the next few moments,
I request you to allow the rain to become your anchor.
Not your background.
Your anchor.
You don't have to empty your mind.
You don't have to stop thinking.
Simply notice.
Can you hear the softer drops?
Or the heavier ones.
Perhaps.
One feels like landing very close.
Another.
Somewhere in the distance.
Notice how no two sounds are exactly alike.
Yet together they belong.
If thoughts begin to appear,
Welcome them.
Just as you welcome another raindrop.
You don't need to chase them away.
You don't need to hold on to them.
Simply notice there's a thought.
And then gently return to listening.
Slowly try noticing if you can hear beyond what is obvious.
The tiny pauses between the drops.
The spaces where one sound ends and another begins.
Sometimes it is in those spaces that the mind begins to soften.
The rain asks for nothing.
No answers,
No explanations.
Only your attention.
Not forced attention.
Curious attention.
The kind you might offer to a piece of music you have never heard before.
As you continue listening,
Notice.
If anything is changing.
Not around you,
But inside.
Perhaps your breathing slows.
The shoulders release a little bit.
Maybe nothing changes at all.
Here,
In this space,
Every experience is welcome.
Perhaps somewhere in between the first drop and the hundredth.
You may notice that the pitter patter has become louder.
Than the noise inside your mind.
Not because your thoughts disappeared,
But because.
.
.
They no longer needed to compete.
They simply became another sound passing through while the rain continued its quiet song.
Take one slow,
Comfortable breath in.
And a gentle breath out.
Listen once more,
Not for the loudest drop.
But for the one you almost missed.
Whenever you're ready,
You may slowly wiggle your fingers.
Before you return to your day.
Take this quality of listening with you.
To conversations,
To bird songs,
To footsteps,
Maybe to your own breathing.
Because mindfulness isn't always found in silence.
Sometimes.
It's found in the simple act of truly listening.
Before we come to an end.
Here are small lines for a takeaway.
Some music isn't written.
It falls.
I open my window not to watch the world outside.
But to listen.
To all the things silence has been trying to tell me.
The Rean arrived without asking.
It said nothing.
It simply kept falling.
Each drop a note.
Each ripple a beat until the pitter patter became louder than the noise inside my mind.
Doreen asked for nothing.
No answers.
No explanations.
Just my attention.
And somewhere between the first drop and the hundredth.
My thoughts stopped trying to be heard and simply listened.
Thank you for sharing these moments with me.
Until next time,
May you continue to find music.
Even in the rain.
Namaste.
