Pagan
Parables~Calling Rain
By Adrienne Wesner, Art by Timothy Schenk
“How hot can it get?” a sweaty Alina moaned. Continuous sunlight poured over her. A pug nose, sprinkled with freckles, peeked out from under an old straw hat. Alina’s black curls stuck to her forehead and sweat oozed off her skin and ran down her back. Her blue cotton dress clung damp and dusty to her knees.
The air melted in the heat. Trees, dying of thirst, gave little shade. All summer long, there had been little rain. A dusty path guided Alina as she trudged past wilted plants with no flowers, drooping in despair. The corn she passed seemed to beg for water. The swimming pond, Alina’s only relief, was dry as a bone. Anger filled the girl. At twelve, rain calling was her talent and she was forbidden to use it.
“The crops are not ready,” the farmers told her. “We need the heat to help them grow.”
Excuses! Excuses! The village Shaman was even worse.
“You have no control,” Baba told her. “If you call the rain, you may call too much.”
Her mother agreed, “You're just not old enough.”
“That’s not true!” Alina declared crossly, kicking a clod of dirt out of her way. She was the daughter and granddaughter of rain callers. Filled with their knowledge and power, Alina knew best!
Relentless sunlight threatened to drown the sweaty girl in a flood of heat. Alina marched through the village up to the ancient well. Mumbling angrily, she pulled up a bucket. Seeing only mud ooze from it, Alina stormed away.
“I want rain,” she screamed inside herself, “and I want it now!” Glancing over her shoulder, Alina escaped the village. She would call the rain.
The circle, where her village came to honor Mother Earth, lay before her. Alina danced there with her family under the full moon, but she had never stood in the circle’s center. Before her a giant oak seemed to sway and whisper its protests. Ancient energy surrounded her and settled in her heart.
Giving herself a hard shake, Alina began to focus on her magic. Her bare feet firmly planted, her toes dug deep into Mother Earth groping through the dust like the roots of a desperate plant. Her arms reached upward over her head as she had seen her mother do. Eyes closed, mind calm, Alina whispered the incantation.
"Ancient Skies, hear my call. Send the rains and let them fall. The rains will fall as I’ve decreed. It is my will, so mote it be! Blessed be!”
Smiling, Alina felt a cool breeze. Rain filled clouds covered the dark sky. Sensing eyes on her, Alina's heart turned to stone. Her mother and the Shaman watched her from the circle’s edge.
“Child,” Baba the Shaman asked, her voice dry as the wind. “What have you done?”
“I did what was right.” Alina squared her shoulders. “I did what had to be done.”
“Did you?” her mother glared at her. “Did you think of everything?”
“Like what?” Alina squared her jaw and her shoulders, ready to fight. “We need the rain. The well’s dry. We have no water. I can’t even swim!”
“That’s what this is about?” Her mother shrieked at her.
Alina stepped back. Her mother never yelled at her, no matter what. Something was terribly wrong. Alina tried to stand tall and proud.
“Is this all about Alina?” Mother demanded, hands on her hips. “What about the crops? How will we harvest? The food might rot in the fields and we’ll all starve this winter. But no, Alina wants to swim.”
Her mother’s angry words frightened Alina and she shrunk away. The torrent of words continued as hard as the falling rain.
“Everything has a reason. You never asked why you couldn’t use your magic. We weren’t punishing you--we were protecting you.”
The rain continued strong and steady, day after day. Farmers came out of the fields. Their words plugged Alina’s ears like mud.
“How can I get to my crops?”
“I can’t get home, the stream is flooded. My house may wash away!”
Alina tried everything she knew but the rain kept falling. Slogging miserably through the village, she stood outside Baba’s hut. Wiping her feet, she entered. Baba stirred her fire and watched as Alina dripped in the entrance.
“Baba, what can I do?” Alina begged for an answer.
Watching the wet girl through the fire smoke, Baba said dryly, ”You can ask questions the next time.” Baba stirred the smoky fire. "'Why' is a good place to start."
“I never thought…” Alina stammered.
“No you didn’t.” Baba responded reaching for her staff. “Ignorance is no excuse. You must ask questions and listen to the answers.”
The downpour continued. Baba and Alina slipped as they followed the path, now a muddy river to the sacred circle.
Alina stepped inside whispering, ”I don’t know... What do I say?”
Raindrops glistened on Baba’s nose. “Ah, at last the questions begin! Remember how you called the rain,” she instructed Alina. “Now, call it backwards.”
Digging her toes deeply into the soft moist ground, Alina reached skyward. Closing her eyes, she became one with Mother Earth.
Wind blew past Alina. Trees shook raindrops off their leaves.
Alina smiled and whispered, “Ancient skies, hear my call. Release the light and warm us all. Rain be gone, I so decree. It is my will, so mote it be... Blessed be!“
Baba took her hand and led Alina out of the circle. Her mother stood at the edge; hands holding a bucket. Her solemn look frightened Alina.
“Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s all right to make mistakes as long as you learn from them.” her mother smiled, “Have you learned?”
Alina sighed, “I’ll always ask questions.”
“Good.” Raising the bucket, her mother drenched Alina in mud. Mother laughed as it dripped off Alina’s nose. “Remember Alina, you started the rain. Now you get to clean it up.”
Hugging her mother tightly, Alina smiled.
Moral: Always ask questions. And, when you don't have an answer and you're not sure what to do, the answer is NO--you can always say yes later.