Today
I decided to find
a spark of joy,
a light,
life growing
somewhere.
My typical routine
is to check the news
in the morning
to see
what the world is doing,
what philosophical issues
there are to argue or defend,
who is leading us to where,
what calamity has befallen
someone else
trapped behind my phone screen.
But now, I am presented
with the roulette wheel
announcing the new daily number
of the sick and the dead,
higher than it was
just the day before,
some fatalities obvious, as hospitals
stack the body bags
in freezer trucks
that might have otherwise carried
hamburger or ice cream
just a few days ago.
And we hope
the next number is not our own.
Looking for ways to feel safe,
words and acts of defiance,
a prayer, a glance at someone
we trust to stay -at all costs...
But some deaths are quite sudden.
A bad cold gone terribly wrong.
A nurse or a janitor who only went to work,
or church, or school, or the grocery store,
just like always,
back when there was still bleach
and a million flavors of toilet tissue
for a nation
that has always loved
its own behind.
Years ago
I lived through the eruption
of a volcano.
There were warning signs
no one believed.
It was a far away problem
near mountains that had stood
still
for thousands of years
comforting us with their
continuity alone.
Hundreds of miles away,
some Thing happened
that split the very sky in half
on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
The darkness of rolling ash-filled clouds
came in and pulled a curtain
across the sun, the city,
the brightness of the world.
The landscape went
from technicolor to ash gray.
We left church
seeking
umbrellas and newspapers as ash
fell on our hair, our cars, our lives.
School was cancelled
as we sealed ourselves
into dorm rooms,
as we were told
the ash could cut up our lungs
and we would die.
Decades later, it is clear that
most of us lived, and much
of the information we received
was based on fear and
our inexperience with this
kind of a catastrophe.
As time passed, we got better
at dealing with the fallout
measured in inches of ash,
heavy as powdered rocks
that had to be moved
to landfills because
it neither melted,
nor blew away,
and waiting for it to disappear
did nothing.
Occasionally, an odd and wispy ash cloud
would drift by far above
a clear blue sky,
reminding us of the day
our lives were forever changed.
We learned what we had forgotten.
No one is immune to loss.
Our humanity alone
crosses many boundaries,
often prompting one to offer
a hand to another
who might have otherwise never
crossed that path.
We are social beings.
Difficult events
hold up a mirror
showing us an unrealized capacity for
fear, selfishness, cruelty, greed
and deep levels of
love, sacrifice, generosity,
and an appreciation of Life and
those near us that have made
the world a wonderful place
to be-
or seek out.
Memories are made
as you live them.
This time, I would like to remember
that even in The Year of The Great Pandemic
there were also days of hopefulness
and good moments.
It was not all sadness
and weeping,
the other slow death to be avoided.
So each day
I magnify something
that reflects a bit of joy.
Spring daffodils.
An inspiring song.
A walk in the sun.
Open windows
to replace the stale air
of depression and claustrophobia
of confinement.
A voice that speaks peace
and laughter.
Planting deep seeds
of sunshine.
A bad cold gone terribly wrong.
A nurse or a janitor who only went to work,
or church, or school, or the grocery store,
just like always,
back when there was still bleach
and a million flavors of toilet tissue
for a nation
that has always loved
its own behind.
Years ago
I lived through the eruption
of a volcano.
There were warning signs
no one believed.
It was a far away problem
near mountains that had stood
still
for thousands of years
comforting us with their
continuity alone.
Hundreds of miles away,
some Thing happened
that split the very sky in half
on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
The darkness of rolling ash-filled clouds
came in and pulled a curtain
across the sun, the city,
the brightness of the world.
The landscape went
from technicolor to ash gray.
We left church
seeking
umbrellas and newspapers as ash
fell on our hair, our cars, our lives.
School was cancelled
as we sealed ourselves
into dorm rooms,
as we were told
the ash could cut up our lungs
and we would die.
Decades later, it is clear that
most of us lived, and much
of the information we received
was based on fear and
our inexperience with this
kind of a catastrophe.
As time passed, we got better
at dealing with the fallout
measured in inches of ash,
heavy as powdered rocks
that had to be moved
to landfills because
it neither melted,
nor blew away,
and waiting for it to disappear
did nothing.
Occasionally, an odd and wispy ash cloud
would drift by far above
a clear blue sky,
reminding us of the day
our lives were forever changed.
We learned what we had forgotten.
No one is immune to loss.
Our humanity alone
crosses many boundaries,
often prompting one to offer
a hand to another
who might have otherwise never
crossed that path.
We are social beings.
Difficult events
hold up a mirror
showing us an unrealized capacity for
fear, selfishness, cruelty, greed
and deep levels of
love, sacrifice, generosity,
and an appreciation of Life and
those near us that have made
the world a wonderful place
to be-
or seek out.
Memories are made
as you live them.
This time, I would like to remember
that even in The Year of The Great Pandemic
there were also days of hopefulness
and good moments.
It was not all sadness
and weeping,
the other slow death to be avoided.
So each day
I magnify something
that reflects a bit of joy.
Spring daffodils.
An inspiring song.
A walk in the sun.
Open windows
to replace the stale air
of depression and claustrophobia
of confinement.
A voice that speaks peace
and laughter.
Planting deep seeds
of sunshine.
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