Rain and the gift of sight

I was driving the other day with the rain pounding down in relentless shards against my freezing windshield, and my wipers mechanically fighting away like black whips on the windowpane. I peered out into the gray fogginess as the lines of the wiper intermittently cut across my view.

I couldn't see very well. The water droplets kept falling faster than they were being swept away and no matter how much I focused, the roads, the cars, the people, all seemed like blurred outlines of colors mixing and swirling and distorting in front of me - much like water-colored painted people who just got smudged across their canvas. A metaphor flashed vividly into my mind, striking my very soul with the force of its poetic beauty.

I envisioned the windshield as my literal field of vision, and the rain as tears falling across my world, blurring and distracting emotional torrents that could blind me in an absolutely frightening manner given the amount of risk and responsibility of the situation. I envisioned the windshield wipers as the mechanical, objective tools of reason and logic meticulously and repetitively trying to alleviate the effect of the flooding torrents. How scary it is, to drive without sight; analogously, isn't it just as frightening, to act without reason?

I slowed the car down because I couldn't see, and waited for the rain to stop and the sun to come out again. Then, I picked up the car again and drove with the assuredness that comes with clarity and the gift of sight.

In the same manner, should I not slow my mind and wait for the tears to stop, and for reason to emerge once more? Maybe then, and only then, will I have the wisdom to move on without accident.