Sunday, April 5: Stillness: Nothing But Time

1:02 p.m. 

It's about 50 degrees outside, and I did something that I don't usually do on a Sunday afternoon in early April. I pulled out a green portable chair (one of those that you can take to the beach) and moved to the backyard, out in the sun.

And then I am sitting still.

Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Duck move away from the view. I was hoping to snap a close-up of them frolicking, but apparently, three is a crowd.  Later today, I will probably putter around in the garden, but it's still too early to truly clean yet. There may be a frost between now and Mother's Day, which is usually the green light for planting flowers in northern Indiana.

 I think for so many years in my life I am rushing, rushing, rushing, burying myself into gardening, playing music, reading, working, writing, anything to avoid being still. Because when I am still and I have nothing but time, I have to face it--face the stillness.

That's not easy for many reasons. I've conveniently locked myself up in a turret in the attempt to shield out conflict and disappointments and grief and insecurities and life and pain and sorrow.
It doesn't work so well. As a result, I get in my own way and trip over myself in the confines of that turret.

And the light and the reality seeps in like bitter tea that has been out for too long and has cooled off. And that tea tastes terrible.
And now, we have nothing but time.
And if we're fortunate, we'll make it out of this pandemic alive.

But, I don't believe any of us will make it out unaffected, unscathed, or untouched
in some significant way.

I hope there will be meaning to all this pain and suffering, because this is so much bigger than you and me individually. This pandemic is about the collective consciousness.

After all the proverbial fans have broken from all the shit that has been flung into them, to us, to all of us,

when the blades in the fans are quiet and the pandemic finally stops,
we'll step out of the shadows
we'll face the stillness, together and alone
and hopefully embrace it as hard
as we will embrace each other

when the virus is still
and the masks are lifted

for good.