Rain, Laughter, Storytellers

The rain began pouring an hour into my emailing session. Its steadily pitter-pattering, and I'm contemplating whether to wait it out, or not. I sit here in town, not so contentedly, but with an urge to write. The thing is to write without anything to say, seems futile. Okay, so I'll describe a common practice here in Tonga. Not sure what its called, I'll find out and get back to you. But this is soooo common, its rainbathing....so it happens when it rains and pours, then you go outside with a bar of soap and just take a big ass rainbath, clothes and all....I mean like people (mainly youth) are walking around the streets of Nuku'alofa with suds coming off their heads and lather on their limbs with broad smiles of abandon spread like mad across their faces ...enjoying every minute of it. Laughter upon laughter, as if its accessible from an undending supply. The laughter isn't contagious to me --- but I'm curious, at how this deeply welled kata is sourced --- even in my wildest fancies, I don't laugh like this, I just couldn't laugh like this, just wouldn't know where to start...perhaps its the reserved nature of my Danish ancestry---the strongest line in my maternal pedagree---that keeps me from this explosive way of expressing humor, joy, and ultimately, what seems like transcendence of the individual ego...even my Tongan women relatives are more on the quiet contemplative side of the fence...some aunties are gossipers, but my father says its from the 'Uiha side, because the "Fahefa side never gossip like that", he says...my auntie here (dad's younger sister) is joyful, and her children gather round her like planets around a sun...her laughter is loud, her eyes beam like pillars of light when she talks and laughs...and although I have no idea what is so funny (boy do I feel outa place, again), I am simply amazed at the conjuration (is that a word?) of pure laughter... at the power... much like how I marvel at men who fight, men who kill... a couple dudes from the states smashed these two other dudes from the states friday night at Billfish...crack! crack! and the two unfortunates lay on a heap against the back wall, a lump on the floor. It was really hilarious, but so silly you know? Later it gave us something to talk about, and even a little laugh...
I diagnose myself as missing this laughing gene, while inheriting too many contemplative, thoughtful genes. I wish I were a navigator...these genes seem well-suited to long journeys on the sea...Laughing and violence rock the boat...meditating, contemplating, thinking things through bring us to safe harbor, and propel us on a stable line between disconnected stars...we are the storytellers.