Overnight we are in the midst of a war. Those who can escape to the countryside. Those who can’t are forced to stay. We don’t know for how long we will be confined and separated. That last farewell, fare the well, is left floating in the wind. It is hard not to feel lonely in such moments, but I am consoled by a ladybug found in the apartment. It is the second one I have seen in a few days, and her little feet crawling up my neck is comforting.
In the morning it is revealed that swans and even dolphins have returned to the canals of Venice, and the waters previously choked by tourism are returning to a clear blue. This all feels more than meant to be, consequential repercussions of debts overdue. By afternoon, I seem to be developing a fever. I am luckily well-stocked, and in a certain way glad to leave the world for a while. We must all contemplate something very important right now, and that is limitation. `
I. Am. Here. Now. That is what the Instagram yoga teachers say, and the Buddha before them. In the park the tulips look like a band of white trumpets playing to the sky, having all opened simultaneously overnight, and the eclectic bouquet I bought from the gypsy woman on the street still smells like things that are living, despite its imminent decay.
(For now she is stranded in Trieste, just south of the center of World War III. She longs to go home, across the Adriatic Sea, but the borders are closed, and she does not know when she will be allowed to leave)
I awake with the first birds, but do not get up with them. Exhaustion overtakes, so I sleep, dream of strange unnamable things. By the time I get up my fever is gone, but so is the sun. I am left to examine the internal reflections of my heart, and be honest with myself as to what I find there. It is not all a surprise, but it is also not all as was expected. We used to joke about the apocalypse, but now it has become something real. I am grateful to know where you are, those who I know where you are, to be able to know that one day I can show up on your doorstep, should we need to go to safety. In the meantime I decide to refrain from the news until happy hour, and start doing triage in the refrigerator. Preservation, how do we we preserve the things that are important?
In New York City the taxi driver with chronic bronchitis and a slipped disc is still driving his taxi, because he won’t be able to buy food otherwise. He goes into the bank and stands in line behind an old couple who are in the process of removing their life savings. They have masks on, and gloves, and when asked reveal that they have tested positive for the virus, and want to distribute their money amongst their grandchildren while they still can.
A hundred years ago she and her husband decided they wanted to do something, contribute to the cause, so they got on a ship in New York City and sailed across the ocean to the offer their assistance on the front. Such was the deepening stream that they crossed, moving away from safety, to offer their hands and their hearts. Here and now, we are told to stay home, isolate, don’t spread the virus. At the same time, the soup kitchens and shelters in the city close, and the temperature drops. There are people hungry and cold and dying of things other than the virus, but this aspect of our current reality does not make the headlines.
In the teachings, we are told to practice something called non-dualism. Which is to say, not separate self from other, not create an ego inserted into a environment, that both are connected and one. This is a paradox for the mind on a normal day, and this is not a normal day. Self-preservation alights side by side with non-duality, and maybe that is just to say, we are all made of the same fabric, and now we are able to see and know this more than ever, or are at least given the opportunity to pursue this inquiry.
In Germany we are still walking in the park, sharing the atmosphere as we always do. Friends sit, some at the prescribed two meters apart, others not, but there remains an underlying sense of connection between all of us. The project of learning how to live together here, in this place, the necessity of cohabitation, with all these unnamable unknowable and sometimes undesirable other beings – that is the undeniable task.
The seamless way this virus is moving through human society suggests a level of intelligence far beyond human capacity, seething with latent equanimity and benevolence, despite the incredible tolls it is taking upon our species. There are many who believe that the Earth is not intelligent, but one only needs to take a step back to see that she too, desires to live and breathe and perpetuate her existence, even if it means at the cost of some her more narcissistic inhabitants. This is not to speak of individuals. This is the human collective. It seems we will lose many in order to learn this current lesson. But it is also clear enough that if we don’t succeed in finding a balance with our environment, sooner or later we will lose it all.
For now my cough is nearly gone, and I am left with isolation, good intentions, and ignorance. What are we to do in the face of our ignorance, besides find the pleasure in it, and dance ? Moving bodies on a dance floor, organisms each with their own well of rhythms. This is not such a bad metaphor to come to, in the end. There are worse things than sharing pleasure. But there is such a fine line, between pleasure and hedonism. As humans we were stuck in the hedonism, while often missing all the pleasure. Now we must find new ways to open amidst the grief. This is not the time to let our hearts collapse. Now we lift higher, and in the meantime try not to kill each other.