Earlier today, I was sitting in the park with the writing group that I frequently attend. We had heard all weekend that it was going to rain, but so far it was mostly blue skies behind fluffy white clouds. It wasn't quite overcast, but you could see the dark clouds off in the distance. Part of the writing group experience includes a portion where members volunteer to read their works to the group in hopes of receiving helpful critique. It was my turn to read, so I decided to go with reading my blog entry about religion. Well, as soon as I started reading, little drops of rain started pattering around us. During the middle, I looked up to see people huddled under umbrellas. We had a good laugh, but that's not all there is to this story. As I finished reading the last paragraph, the last drop of rain fell and that was it.
A lot of people would take this as some sort of omen or sign or communication, but I have to laugh at the coincidence. The rain was actually kind of welcome, as the day was quite humid. It was refreshing. Oddly enough, nobody felt like giving me any critiques. I think they were all weirded out.
A lot of busywork has been made of rain dances and animal sacrifices to the gods in hope of rain. To think that they had it wrong all along is astounding. They shouldn't have been praising and groveling to the gods, they should have been denouncing their existence. I feel like I learned something today.
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