There’s something holy about a rainbow.

Something liminal.

They show up in the threshold space—

after the storm, but before the calm.

The moment when the sun peeks through the clouds.

The darkness fades into the background, and through the fog, the light refracts and creates a portal.

It’s like that moment after a cry,

when suddenly, a breath of fresh air seeps in.

A soft rush of perspective.

And something about the pain becomes beautiful.

Alchemical, even.

From the ground, it creates the arc-shaped rainbow we’re used to seeing.

Sometimes, the pattern is dramatic enough to repeat itself—

another octave, a second arc.

As above, so below.

But that’s just our perspective from down here.

When you look at the rainbow with altitude—with higher perspective—

you realize it isn’t an arc at all.

It’s a full circle.

What felt like fracture becomes wholeness.

The power of the portal radiating outward in concentric rings,

reflecting the full spectrum of our experience.

As within, so without.

And I can’t help but think of the first time I was told a rainbow meant something.

A story from my childhood—threaded and etched

into the architecture of meaning I still carry today.

After the flood, the ark landed on Mount Ararat.

After the water receded and the world was covered in grief.

The rainbow appeared in the sky—not just as beauty,

but as a covenant born from catastrophe.

A sky-mark that said: never again.

I wonder if from that mountain,

with the altitude and the silence and the ache of survival,

they saw the whole circle.

Not just the arc.

Not just the beauty.

But the promise embedded in the pattern. 🌈

#Grief

#Rainbow

#LiminalSpace

#SpiritualAwakening

#NatureAsPortal

#QueerSpirituality

#Symbolism

#ChildhoodStories

#TheGrandPause

#ThresholdMoments

#MythAndMeaning

#AfterTheStorm

#Pride

#PrideMonth

#QueerWriters

#LGBTQVoices

#QueerHealing

#SacredQueerness

#Pride2025