Sunset On A Rainy Day

I’ve been walking with my higher self so long I didn’t even know she had such a name. Folks talk about meeting her through meditation or some fancy ceremony. Me? I just listen. Darlin, we’re talking about your soul.

She’s the voice that hums when the world goes still—the knowing that shows me which cabinet to open, which words to use when a family’s heart is splitting right in front of me.

Most mornings I start by saying thank you. Not the church kind, the living kind—thank you for color still blazing in the trees, for eyes that can see, for hands that still hold. I ramble on down the road, thanking Spirit for everything from coffee to cloud shadows. Gratitude’s my fuel. Keeps the cup from ever running dry.

By the time night comes, I’m curled up on a wet, cold night with my Stella breathing soft beside me and my husband in the kitchen frying burgers and taters. Simple fare for complicated folks, but it fills all the hollers that daylight leaves behind. I can be a complicated nut to crack, but man… I. Sure. Do. Love. Simple.

After the house hushes, I turn the TV off and watch the fire. That’s when Spirit saddles up, all quiet-like. Ideas come easy then—ways to ease a patient’s pain, words that heal without effort. I don’t have to write them down. Spirit will tug my sleeve when it’s time to use them.

Sometimes I play that music by “a soul named Joel.” Don’t know what he does to those sounds, but it’s like remembering something from before I was born. Not sadness, just peace. It settles into how I move through the world—the way I talk, the way I listen. Folks feel it. I don’t have to say a word.

Now, let me just tell you: I’ve never cared for clocks. Grew up with them ticking through every room like a nervous habit. I keep one rusty red clock on my wall with no batteries in it. Time can hang there if it wants, but it won’t boss me around. I live by light, not numbers. Maybe that’s why dying doesn’t scare me —it’s just another shift in light.

When someone takes their last breath, the air changes colors: yellow, orange, pink, purple. Sometimes it’s warm like honey; sometimes cool like creek water. Always there’s that low hum, like the world’s heart beating slow and deep. It’s not an ending for what I believe, it’s a sunset. My job is to sit steady as the horizon and make sure that soul leaves wrapped in reverence.

I guess that’s what I’m here to tell you—slow down. Turn off the ticking, turn down the noise. Sit by your own fire, or your porch, or even your parked car. Spirit ain’t far; it just needs the quiet to land. Gratitude will keep you company till it does.