With eyes closed, the world is dark, and that doesn't change when I open them. From the room where I sleep, study and write, and whose windows offer a view of the meadow, the country road lined with oak trees and the dyke along the Vechtdijk during the day, nothing can be distinguished now. It takes a moment before I notice the soft, steady patter of rain on the flat roof. The sound and the darkness merge into one another.
I grab my phone, even though I recently decided not to do that anymore when I wake up in the middle of the night. It is the habit that guides my hand, I argue by way of justification; it’s beyond my control. The glowing screen breaks the shelter of the night. The reality behind the comforting drumbeat is a chilly December rain shower.
The screen displays 03.18. On the border between wakefulness and sleep, I open the weather app. Reassuring cloud and crescent moon icons dispel any awareness of the bleak outside world. Phone off, turn over, warm duvet, cool breath.
03.25. Hold on a minute. Clouds and a crescent moon? It's raining, isn't it? An app that doesn't accurately predict the future weather is one thing. But this is just about confirming the current weather situation. That's not too much to ask, is it? Phone back on, another weather app. Fortunately, it gives me the confirmation that I, as a digital person, need and am looking for. Yes, it's raining indeed.
03.28. The rain brings back memories of the rain in my childhood. It announced itself with scattered splashes of the first drops on the water surface Then the murmur, rumble, drumming on the flat roof of our houseboat.
Later, the sound of rain on the tent canvas was added to that. And the sound of rain on the sloping roof of the attic room during a sleepover. And rain on an umbrella. On the canopy of the tree under which I took shelter. On the hood of my raincoat. On the roof of my old caravan. On the car roof. On the roof of the green Volkswagen camper van. On the glass of the vegetable greenhouse. On the roof of our forest house.
03.30. The monotonous drumming is suddenly interrupted by a brief intensification, intense and much louder. During the day, the ratio would suggest a gust of wind. One that shakes the soaking wet oak tree growing over the flat roof and causes a load of water to cascade down. In my half-sleep, however, I see a grinning forest spirit, who, in his enthusiasm over a newly acquired umbrella, jumps for joy.
05.12. I let myself be carried away by sleep, and by the wind and rain. Across the meadow, the dyke and river, to the next village, a town. From Hesse to the North German Wadden Sea coast lies an enormous blue blanket.
Weawöw
06.48. The world becomes even bigger. Wind and rain know no national borders. Do raindrops sound the same on a flat roof in Greenland?
Windy, the most beautiful weather app of all.
06.51. Long lines of connection.
Apple weather is waiting to see which way the wind blows and patiently waiting to see what the others come up with.
07.04. I wake up and the awareness of the continuous lines and enormous spirals fades. All that remains of the rain is the occasional last drop falling from the tree onto the roof.
THE IMAGE: twice the Water trigram. Water occupies a special place in Taoist thought. Nothing is as soft and yielding as water, wrote Lao Zi, yet it overcomes everything that is strong and solid. It always seeks out the lowest places, places that are despised and avoided by others. At the same time, water can also rise to the higher regions of the atmosphere, in the form of vapour and clouds. To be carried to wherever the wind blows.
Without any preconceived plan, water unites with itself. Drops, a puddle, a river, a lake, the deepest sea. Twice the water trigram: the image of the unfathomable, of darkness, of the dark.
To be continued …