Overnight the vibe changes. With an early morning rain the temperature drops, and I come outside to find my bike has been stolen, the lock apparently hammered at exactly the right angle. I find a posting online for a fifty euro bike and ride my friend’s daughter’s rusty old mountain bike across town to check it out, the revolutions of the small tires moving in double time, while everything else appears to float by in slow motion.
It is my first time across town in two weeks, and I take the opportunity to once again visit the cherry trees, wondering if by now I have actually missed their glory, seeing how warm it was this last week. But I am blessed to find I have not, they are just now opening, and not even at their peak. Wind blows through the deserted streets of the poorer neighborhoods, many of which feel abandoned, even though they are surely not, just enclosed. I wonder, not for the first time, what would happen if we all lost internet connections, in addition to being in isolated quarantine. What would become of us then?
Amongst the row of cherry trees there is one without any blossoms, not even any leaves. Its apparent passing is a stark contrast to the pink blossoms lighting up the whole street.
The change in weather feels like we are moving from summer back into fall. I have my first cappuccino in weeks, and it feels like the luxury that it truly is. By now I am using powdered milk at home, and espresso has become a thing belonging to the world outdoors, in the world. At the cafe children still ask for their ice cream, like always. It is hard to articulate what we are feeling, but we are all feeling it, this much is clear.
In the middle of America is a woman sleeping in her car with her cat. Lost her job some weeks back, and the friend she was staying with before, moved out of state. The hardest thing is finding somewhere to go to the bathroom. She eventually ends up calling some number, and they help, put her up in a hotel room for a couple weeks. Now she’s got a new job working in a grocery store, where her friend has been working seven days a week.
What kind of heart keeps beating in this time? What does the human spirit need, besides health, to survive?
The organ shifts between major and minor keys like the sun shining then disappearing behind a cloud. It appears they have shut the heat off in the studio building, and didn’t choose to tell us. But if we are still human, and I believe we are, we need to withstand the cold like our artifacts, stoic and unconcerned.
It is not sadness I feel, but almost more a kind of shame, as I witness the veil of ignorance lift. I think again of my old lover (do we not all think of our old lovers in this time?) and how he would always play the music that most matched each moment, at times exacerbating emotions, but certainly not turning away or denying them. We must look at this time now, we must feel it for what it is. The loss, the learning, the breathing deep alone in a small room, every night returning to the refuge of our own soul’s darkness, or else lying awake in its light.
We speak of the prison effect of isolation, and then we speak to real prisoners.
(Practice holding joy in your body, she says, hold that frequency. I try to laugh and it makes me want to throw up)
We are approaching the boundaries of our pain body, or else, we are already inside. Each human is a mirror, cloudy or clear, opening to being pleased, or else upset. Someone did something to me, and now I’m doing it to myself, this toxicity of swallowed tears.
So what am I still punishing myself for, in this small dark room of isolation ? What forgiveness need be accepted ? What is this story of unloved unworthiness ? Is it really mine ? How to purify my view so I can see clearly ?
I’m sorry
Please forgive me
Thank you
I love you
I love myself because I am the being that breathes to love you.