Lightning

Julie Andrews was a good music teacher, but not a good meteorologist in “The Sound of Music” in attempting to give a comforting answer to petrified children concerning the tumultuous thunderstorm occurring towards the beginning of the film.  The electrostatic discharge of plasma arcing from oppositely charged ion concentrations to another might sound like the sky is very angry, and if by ‘angry’ we mean ‘unsettled’, then the sky is very angry indeed.  It is ironic, I suppose, that the very thing that dispels the darkness in the midst of a thunderstorm simultaneously generates more fear instead of less.  For a brief moment, upon a lightning strike, one does not have to wonder if any thunderbirds, a boogeyman, or any man wearing a hoodie draped over his face is out there in the darkness because the light has indicated otherwise – hopefully – but this comfort does not last for more than a microsecond as the anticipated drama of the cacophonous symphony of thunder approaches; which, if the truth be known, actually is the more prominent terror-inducing phenomenon that causes more children to run down the halls to the parents’ bedrooms faster than Usain Bolt on the 100-meter dash.  The lightning is brilliant; the thunder is terrifying.  Lightning induces awe; thunder instills dread.  If the Earth were a giant heart, it would be receiving over a hundred shocks from the AED of storm clouds every second.  If the Earth were a large man, his overcoat has far too much static cling and needs to be hung out.  If the Earth were the Earth, then its inhabitants would have a spectacular light show – one to remind them there are things outside of their control that are still beautiful, brilliant, dangerous, awesome and magnificent.  “He unleashes his lightning beneath the whole heaven and sends it to the ends of the earth. After that comes the sound of his roar; he thunders with his majestic voice. When his voice resounds, he holds nothing back…” (Job 37:3-4)