TIME OUT:Rain is a psychologically soothing presence in our lives
‘HOW BEAUTIFUL is the rain!” exclaimed the poet Henry Longfellow, a sentiment not always shared until we reflect upon it and realise how beautiful indeed rain is.
Conspicuous by its absence, rather than appreciated for its presence, rain is an essential psychological presence in our lives, and to be Irish is to have an intimate linguistic, sensory, social and psychological relationship with rain.
Commentary on the weather provides social cohesion. It is salutation and conversation, and anyone stuck for words of greeting, passing comment or topic for discussion has a ready subject in Irish weather and the likelihood or otherwise of rain.
But rain provides more than ease of social exchange. It is woven linguistically into our lives. It has its own vocabulary and turn of phrase. When it is especially prolific and beautiful, the “heavens open”. When it is sudden and pours down mercilessly, it “buckets”or it “rains cats and dogs”. Sometimes it lingers or falls so lightly that it is almost imperceptible, bringing a “soft day” through which light is diffused, nature is quiescent and we are psychologically soothed by rain’s sizzling presence in our lives.
Sometimes rain is joyous. Symphonic. Onomatopoeic. It splishes and splashes, splatters and clatters, plips and plops, pitters and patters, tracks and trickles. It beats against doors to get in. It makes rivulets by roadsides. It throws tantrums. It drums. It pounds upon windscreens. It colludes with the wind screeching and swirling, swishing and scratching, pouring and pounding. It rushes and gushes. It gathers in gulleys. It sends us scuttling for shelter in doorways, under newspapers, grabbing fragments of clothing for protection against its sudden onslaught and the ferocity of its force.
Rain provides emotional expression when its “tears” trickle down windowpanes with pathetic fallacy for poets, or those in need of nature to reflect their mood. “Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon,” wrote Edward Thomas, perhaps because a bright day feels too garish for our sorrow, or because nature raining in sympathy assures us that it notes our loss.
Rain has its own attire, hats and caps, brollies and macs, the hood, the sou’wester, wellies and galoshes. But while adults don rainwear for protection, children appreciate the entertainment rain provides: puddles to peer in, water to splash and the joy of squelching boots, drenched socks and mud spattered everywhere.
It is good for children to listen to nature, to listen to the rain, to identify its moods and to name and describe its sounds. There are gentle rains, soft rains, misty rains and relentless rains, and the sizzling of rain hissing lightly on leaves at the end of a deluge, soothing and calming itself after the swift surge of a sudden shower.
It is good for us too in these times of stress to attune ourselves to what is cleansing and refreshing, invigorating and restorative in nature, to turn off the relentless media rhetoric of economic despair and enjoy what is free and familiar and abundant in our lives.
Reconnecting with nature is therapeutic. It awaits us. It imposes no charges. It carries no cost. It is always available and always free. It requires only our presence and respect. Nature reminds us of what we had before boom and bust, of what will be there when this time is over and long after we have gone. It reminds us that whatever we have lost or gained, been given or had taken away, nature remains, steady, steadfast and real and ready to embrace us.
Walking has recognised, documented, significant, positive physical and mental health benefits. Walking in the rain is a special kind of therapy.
It connects us directly with nature and with ourselves. It reminds us that we have weathered storms before and can do so again. It combines the rhythm of exercise with time for reflection.
It returns us psychologically to where we began and to what is important, regardless of what dismal economic forecasts there may be.
Marie Murray is a clinical psychologist and author, director of psychology and Student Counselling Services in UCD