Flash flooding. That’s what the warning said. We went anyway. Into the Joshua Tree Desert. Unaware. Unaware that the rain would drown out the sound of the Sacred Crystal Singing Bowls. Driving rain through the celestial portal, spattering us with divine wet. The drama of God’s Own Carwash threatening to slowly meld our cars, parked side by side, sliding down the muddy lot toward the Main Office of Integratron. From inside the wooden dome, we watched the torrent rip through the house next door. Dogs scrambling to the rooftop, yelping, jumping at the raindrops. The shift, the energy, the catapult and reflection of our inward beings, thundering outside, so sexy, so vital, as if the universe were speaking it directly to us, ‘Rain. Psychic Rain. Be that. Pour from the heavens with your magnificent voice. Wash us clean. Refresh our souls. Releasing all that would hold us back and let us dance. With lightening across our hearts. Strike us alive again.’ Amid the cars honking, waiting for the plow, cheering those who would drive through the riverbed that 20 minutes ago had been the freeway, we drank in the sweet air, eyes to the sky, breathed a cleansing breath, gazing at the tremendous thundercloud still hovering, in awe. To be this alive. Thrilling. To roam the world, not solid, but active, moving without weight, purely spirit, like cloud burst, changing the course of the river and life. Thank you more please.