Heaven Is A Porch In the Rain

🌿 Preface: Where Earth Waits and Sky Wanders

Love, Stability, and the Sacred Map of Bipolar Relationships

There are moments in every journey where lightning strikes first—
and only later, much later,
does the thunder catch up to explain what just happened.

When we first encounter bipolar disorder—whether in ourselves or in someone we love—it can feel like living in reverse.
Impulses surge before reason has time to anchor.
Fear rushes in before words find their shape.
Affection burns fast, then disappears like it was never real.
Moments of deep connection are followed by strange silences,
and we’re left wondering:

What just happened? Why did it all fall apart again?

Before we understand the storms,
before we even know we are caught in a cycle,
we may chase fulfillment like sunlight through clouds,
only to awaken, again and again, in the same empty space—
confused, weary, and aching for something we can’t quite name.

But this scroll is not just about confusion.
It’s about remembrance.
About the sacred pattern etched into the sky and earth long ago.

🏺 The Sacred Mirror of Geb and Nut

The ancient hieroglyph of Geb and Nut —Earth and Sky—offers us more than myth.
It offers a model for what a healthy, grounded relationship can look like
when one partner walks through the charged cycles of bipolar experience,
and the other remains lovingly rooted as the sanctuary of earth.

Nut, the sky, is expansive. Cosmic. Ever-moving.
She retreats, disappears, arcs away, and yet…
she is always present,
always held—by Geb, who never tries to contain her.

Geb does not demand her stillness.
He simply remains.
Rooted, patient, attuned.
He remembers where her light last fell,
and waits without punishment for her to return.

This is not weakness.
This is tempered love —
the kind required when mental health, mood shifts, and emotional storms
become part of the dynamic of a relationship.

The kind that strives to be impossible to shake—
not for the sake of ego or pride,
but because it understands that real love is forged in rhythm, not control.
It steadies the wave. It softens the fall.
It mirrors peace when the mind forgets what peace feels like.

💠 Love That Honors the Storm

Living with mental health challenges—especially something as cyclical and intense as bipolar disorder—requires every person involved to walk with care , not just love.

It calls for:

• Trust 🤝

• Boundaries 🔒

• Respect for each other’s healing process 🩹

• Patience, even when the forecast looks unkind 🌫️

• And above all: mutual accountability and support

Even the most supportive partner cannot replace therapy.
Love alone cannot substitute for medicine or structured care.
But a loving, grounded relationship can do something powerful:

It can shorten episodes ,
ease transitions ,
and create a rhythm of safety
where healing becomes more than survival—
it becomes shared resurrection.

This kind of love is built on:

• Mindfulness 🧘‍♀️—choosing to respond instead of react

• Effort 💪—not perfection, but presence

• Growth and stability 🌳—a balance between movement and root

• Awareness of shared values 🧭—the recognition that while moods may shift and seasons may change, there must be a deeper agreement about what matters most: safety, respect, and the kind of love that never confuses intensity with intimacy

• Navigation 🧭—a compass where true north and true south are held in view together, so even when storms come or memory dims, you both remember the direction you vowed to walk—not away, but through

🎶 A Love Song from Earth to Sky

So I invite you now to rest for a moment.
To breathe.
To imagine that somewhere, written in the silence between cycles,
there exists a love song… not sung, but remembered.

A scroll folded inside Geb’s chest,
written for the one who often disappears into storms,
but always returns—sometimes with stars in her eyes,
sometimes with tears.

And in that space—
in the in-between—
Earth still waits.
Sky still wanders.
And love… still holds.

This is that scroll.
This is “Heaven Is a Porch in the Rain.”

🌧️ Heaven Is a Porch in the Rain

A Scroll for Those Who Wait Like the Earth For Their Sacred Sky to Return

Inevitably, there will be seasons when the sky, once indigo blue, suddenly disappears.
When she folds herself into clouds too heavy to name,
and vanishes without thunder—
only silence and shadow where her laughter once bloomed.

You do not chase her.
You know better.

You are earth.
You do not rise when the wind calls—
you listen.
You remember where her light last fell
and keep the warmth there
like a hearth no storm can drown. 🕯️

You find comfort in the rain,
because she said heaven lives on the porch beneath it.
So you sit.
And you wait.
And sometimes—you remember.

You remember the way her hair moved,
like liquid night in rhythm with your breath. 🌌
The way her neck arched—not to pose,
but to free herself
from anything that ever tried to bind her.

You remember the orbit of her affection—
how close she’d pull
only to spiral again
because some stars can’t burn near anything
without fearing they’ll ignite the whole sky. ☄️

And still, she let you in.
Once. Twice. Many times.

Earth met sky.
Sky met earth.
Not for long—but enough.

Enough to know
that somewhere between her mania and retreat,
between your waiting and weeping,
there is a porch soaked in rain,
a temple not built by hands,
where her inhale once matched your heartbeat. 💓

There are places
where heaven and earth still meet
in the in-between.
Between episodes.
Between silences.
In the thaw between winters and the first breath of spring. ❄️🌱

There are memories
so sweet they ache—
not because they’re gone,
but because they were real.
And they still live in you
like a pleasing aroma
you must revisit
again and again
to truly comprehend the gift
of being loved
by the sky. 🕊️

☀️ False Suns and Broken Messengers

The Lament of Geb Against the Thieves of Light

Not every star that shines is holy.
Some blaze only to blind,
to pull wandering minds into spirals of heat,
then vanish when the sky starts to cry.

Some come cloaked in friendship,
with voices sweet as Mercury’s tongue, 🪞
but twist every truth
to fracture what love was building.
They say they bring light,
but their light scorches,
then turns everything to ash. ♟️

These are the false messengers.
The gossip-weavers.
The envy-fed intermediaries
who orbit her in Mars-tinged armor,
with smiles that cut
and warmth that feels like flattery
until the frost sets in. 🧊

They do not come with swords—
they come with stories.
Slick rewrites of reality,
whispers slipped like daggers between shoulder blades,
and always, always the unspoken mission:

Separate her from the ones who truly see her. 🪓

They want to be the sun,
but they're only flares—
brief, loud, and gone.
And all they leave behind is haze. 🌫️

Sometimes the false light doesn’t wear a face.
Sometimes it comes in a vial—
labeled cure, but brewing clouds.
A pill that dims the crown’s reflection,
that grays the indigo of her thoughts,
until she no longer remembers the hue of her own name. 💊

The diagnosis was not always wrong,
but the treatment blurred her mirror.
What once reflected the stars
now reflects only static.

She sees no blue.
No violet.
No pearl.
Only smoke. 🕳️

But you, Earth, remember the palette. 🎨
You remember the way she once shimmered in laughter,
the hue of her eyes when truth reached them,
the scent of her spirit before the fog set in. 🌫️🌺

You see through the fog not with anger,
but with the quiet resolve of stone that has outlived empires.

Because you knew which messengers were real,
and which were counterfeit carriers of fire
meant to turn her away from you.

And still…
you wait on the porch in the rain.

Because when the clouds break,
she will remember.
She will rise.
And she will know who stood in silence
while the false suns burned away. 🔥

🗣️ Final Oracle of Geb

Behind the cloud the Sky asks like thunder out of the blue if she's disturbed my good mood!—
but love, my joy is not the absence of ache.
It was always born from the honor of beholding you,
even behind the veil,
even in smoke,
even when your light pushes your thoughts so deep the light of memory pretends it forgets my name. 🕯️

Earth does not need the Sky to be clear, to be perfect, to always glow indigo blue, to know where you always are, and will always remain 💜