Cloud Blessing (why that poem?)

I recently published one of the poems from my poetry anthology, and as I was writing the caption I realized there was a lot I wanted to say. It mainly all started from this one question: why that poem? For one thing, it struck a chord in my heart. I realized one reason why poetry should be written and recorded: because when it means something to you in that moment, it will mean something much later on.

There is much that does not escape my anthology. There are poems that are too raw to share. There are poems that were written with greater context than I wish to explain, this is the struggle of many an artist. But today, I wish to share with why this poem, which in all honesty was written out of humor and amusement, has impacted me so deeply in this moment.

The reality

I am taking an Introduction to Philosophy course and we learnt about the four Aristotelian causes in a lesson past. If you not at all familiar with the causes, there is the material cause (that out of which something is made), the efficient cause (that by which something is made), the formal cause (that into which something is made) and the final cause (that for which something is made). I would say the formal cause of this poem is a free verse poem; the material cause being the lines and stanzas; and the efficient cause being me the poet.

However, the final cause, though for humor and amusement seems to have hit in a much deeper way. Indeed, though many may think me exaggerating, the final cause seems to have been directed by God to actually comfort me and even bring me some peace.

The photo above is the most accurate image of the bushland that I picture as I imagine this poem taking place before me. It was inspired by a rainy, cloudy day, as the droplets gathered on branches after a rainfall and dropped like melted hail stone on my head. And whenever this weather occurred, I felt called to walk in it, to feel the cold and wet breeze, and smell the rain that the clouds blessed the earth with.

Did you know that the name for that earthy smell after a rainfall is actually called 'Petrichor'? I think it's perfect. And since travelling, I realized that same smell occurs in every single country. I realized only a few months ago that I have memory of smells. A smell will take me back to a place, and every time, it seems like it is home.

It rains a lot in South Carolina! So every time it does, I thank God, because I am reminded of home. And every time, it helps me settle just that little bit more in a place I am longing to call home.

And so it's the constant struggle: where is home?

As the poem transplants me, more than I could ever describe, I am reminded of last year, of hating school because of the stress I felt it placed on my life. I remember considering home a refuge, not because it wasn't equally as stressful with a full homework load, but because my family was always there to relieve a bit of that stress. And I am ashamed I do not always feel like I did that for them.

Next week, I deliver a introductory speech on myself for my public speaking class. I fear I may get a little emotional. My home is not Australia, not here, but Heaven. And as I struggle through this semester, I have felt that this is even more the case. My mental health fluctuates, as do my stress levels. Relationships are constantly morphing and developing, friends back home are changing for the better and for the worse.

And the change brings this longing for home. It brings this great desire for me to hug my Mom and Dad and for them to tell me that we can just watch "Groundhog Day" together, like that night I was overwhelmed. Or to cry into my brother's shoulder when a good friend passed away. Or to hug my best friend so tight when she is burdened or wearied. Or to sit in bed, with God's word on my lap, highlighting and journaling with no distractions. Or to laugh with my family when we mistakenly pull out Monopoly as a fine option for a board game.

Where is home, may I ask? I know the answer. But the poem reminded me of something that I always longed to call home, but never did. And now this place is my home, but its not.

So how about you?

This was a short moment in the span of many I have had here. But it is nonetheless a taste of home so bittersweet that I felt it must be written down. For many of you, this feeling may resound in you. You encounter memories, or photos, or journal entries, or things that bring you back to a happy moment, and you feel a sense of disappointment.

But I want you to think back to those memories, were they as fulfilling in the moment as you once thought? Was my walk in the bush really that exciting?

Real question: can you compare it to Heaven? I know you can't because God promises a place of no mourning. I also know you can't because Heaven is not something we can comprehend. And that should truly comfort you. Do you want to be able to understand a place that is meant to be better than anything you've ever imagined? I certainly don't.

So for now, I count my Cloud Blessings, and I look to the time I will get to spend in Heaven with God, counting my blessings from him.