I look out my window a lot.

​It’s just one of those things that keeps me grounded in this weird, one-with-nature kind of way. I hate curtains. They only gather dust. And I hate alarms even more. I enjoy the natural light to whisper across my face in the morning with gentle fingers, not some man-made sound that jars me into life with a harsh slap. It is the quiet moments of the morning that I savor most, in bed, looking out my window. It’s when I write my best work.
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Yesterday morning, I awoke to a brilliant rainbow. At first, I marveled at the sky’s pink hues, and I thought how soothing it was. I haven’t had that feeling in a long time, that feeling of being at peace with myself or my life. I got out of bed to stand to pull the obligatory curtain further, the color peeking through the leaves of the oaks outside my window. Where I had been seeing grey for quite some time shone now pink. The color is hard to describe accurately. It was pink; but it bordered on a light red. It told me to come look at it.  And then. There it appeared. A rainbow. I will share it with you here, but my phone didn’t do it justice.

​I don’t believe in god as my early catechism taught me. I think I’ve written that before. But I do believe. In something. Energy? Connection? Karma? What Star Wars describes as the Force? The Transcendental Oversoul? I don’t know. But whatever exists outside my understanding, I think it was trying to speak to me. I tried to listen.
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You see, rainbows were a thing with my dad and me. When he passed, I saw them all the time—yes, I was in Hawaii at the time and they were more prevalent--but whenever I see a rainbow, I can’t help but think, “Hi, Dad,” and that there is something in the universe speaking to me. Is it my dad? I doubt it. Is it his energy? I hope so. But each time I see this rare beauty, I try to ask myself what it might be trying to tell me. I read a book once that argued that there is no such thing as coincidence, only our ignorance of the universe around us and the messages it tries to feed us daily that we refuse to acknowledge. I heard from an old friend the the other day, someone I hadn’t spoken to in quite a while. It’s a terrible memory, and yet, after speaking for just a bit, I somehow got closure. I felt at peace. My heart that had hurt for such a long time, stopped hurting. And I think that rainbow told me that it was okay to finally let go, to move on, and to stop blaming myself.

I guess I owe my dad yet another thank you. Closure comes in many forms. I guess this time it took a rainbow to get me there. The rainbow clearly doesn't end on the horizon for me, but in my soul.  And for right now, my soul has found a little peace.