Whatever you want to call it

My job is to teach. I teach those willing to learn, about the world.
For the most part, my lessons are accepted, but occasionally, my
students disagree with what I have to say. One such occasion took place
today, when one of my more frequent pupils asked, "Sir, what is
weather?" At first I was puzzled by the nature of the question, for you
see, in most cases this pupil asks interesting philosophical questions.
Still I owed him an answer.
" Well weather can be caused by many things including the
rota..."
" No," he interrupted, " I mean what does weather mean? Why are there
sunny days? what is rain? What is weather?"
I hesitated a moment then responded, "Well, weather is life." I myself
didn't understand what exactly I was saying but I continued. " You see,
weather is great at representing our world. A sunny day for example is
heaven. Colours are vibrant and bright, the world is alive. Then clouds
come. A cloudy day is a picture of hell on earth." Slowly, I had begun
to understand myself.
" On a cloudy day all colours exist but not with the same flare, or
enthusiasm as when the sun is shining. A garden can be looked upon in
disgust because, although the same flowers are there, there is a shadow
over them. No colour can be fully enjoyed. The clouds are like the
ultimate death that takes place at life's end. the thought of this
death often will not allow us to fully live. It's like slowly being
pushed from a cliff with a beautiful view. Your focus will be on the
edge of the cliff where you will fall to your death not on the view
which would normally steal your breath. Why? this gorgeous view is no
different just because your end is near, well the flowers have not
changed but these clouds do not let us view with a proper perspective.
" I smiled at my pupil and asked the gatherers for their next
question.
" But what is rain?"
I turned to see my pupil staring up at me from the snowy pavement where
he stood, hoping for an answer. I was stumped.
" Sorry only one question each."
An elderly man beside him raised his arm and, upon being summoned by my
pointing finger, asked, " Sir, what then, is rain?"
A snicker went through the crowd.
I lowered my head and said the first thing that came to mind: " Rain,
is... rain is our world. Rain is simply a decoration to hell, a
pointless attempt at beautifying absolute darkness. Most people will
simply spend a rainy Saturday at home, watching TV, playing a board
game or reading a book, simply to pass the time. In the same way, most
go through life studying in school to eventually secure a working
position somewhere, never stopping to look for a purpose. Most people
treat life like a rainy day, simply doing the expected to pass the
time. Then when the weekend ends, they all regret never going skydiving
or never truly falling in love or not going to that picnic that was
canceled due to rain on Saturday.'
' Then, of course, we have those who run bare-foot on their lawn
cherishing every drop of falling moisture. When their weekend ends, you
would think they would feel more accomplished then those who simply sat
inside, but they might regret never reading that book they always
wanted to or not settling down with a family. Due to humanity's
incapability of satisfaction, death always brings regret.'
' When rain doesn't come for a while, a drought for example, even those
who despise it wish it would come. Even Manic depressives fear death
when their silver barrel shakes against their teeth, their own finger
tapping the trigger. Life once lost, is ever loved. Though sweet rain
drops fall , we are only a step above Hell and a stairway away from
Heaven."
I looked my pupil in the eye as he said to me : " That was the most
pessimistic view of our existence that I have ever heard.
I stood in silence as the crowd dissipated, they weren't coming back. I
steps down from my platform and fell asleep in an alley.