When I Step Out in the Rain, the Rain Stops
It has happened more than once.
Not twice.
But more than three times.
I step outside and the rain—pouring moments before—softens, then pauses completely, as if the clouds are holding their breath. It is not coincidence that makes my skin feel the hush of the sky. I know enough of my life and lineage to recognize when I am in the presence of something sacred.
I come from a line of dreamers, seers, and shapers of worlds. My grandmother’s prayers could part emotional storms; my ancestors’ rituals aligned with the pulse of the earth. They were people who listened to the land and understood that nature responds to the ones who know how to hear her voice.
So when the rain stops, I do not see it as mere weather. I see it as a conversation.
Perhaps it is the ancestors, pausing the downpour so they can speak clearly without the noise of falling water. Perhaps it is the elements acknowledging a moment of alignment—a stillness to honor the presence of one who carries the old ways in their blood. Or maybe it is simply nature’s way of saying: we see you, we know you, we walk with you.
In many African cosmologies, rain is not only water; it is blessing, cleansing, fertility, and the breath of the Divine. A sudden stop can signal a shift in energy—a gateway opening for a message, an answer, or a deeper call to pay attention. It is as if the clouds themselves become messengers, interrupting their rhythm to make sure I do not miss the meaning.
And what is the meaning?
For me, it is this:
The world speaks to us all the time. The ancestors are never far. And when the elements shift in our presence, it is an invitation to remember who we are—children of the land, carriers of its truth, and participants in its sacred dialogue.
So now, when I step into the rain and it stops, I close my eyes, breathe deep, and whisper back: I am listening.
Affirmation:
The elements know my name; I walk in rhythm with the earth and the ancestors.
Walking in truth, listening to the land, and remembering the sacred ways.
Bohlale Masera-Sibanda (Bohlale ba Tau)
