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Happy Earth Day!
Not only is there a new moon today, it happens to be the fiftieth anniversary of Earth Day as well. That makes this particular Earth Day rather special, especially because it's landed smack in the middle of the covid-19 debacle that the whole world must now endure. I can't dismiss that bit of synchronicity. Of course I find it significant.
The confluence of 1.) a special anniversary on 2.) a new moon of 3.) a day dedicated to Mother Earth during 4.) a world wide crisis - is a reminder to watch how we treat the Earth that sustains us. Mother Nature is creating a true to life myth rife with metaphor and meaning. Myths are lessons expressed in the form of grand stories, replete with gods and mortals, heroes and adversaries. And this Earth Day story we're currently acting out has it all.
Myths tell tales about the loss and restoration of balance in the natural order of things. The consequences of our mistreatment of Mother Nature are quite obvious right now. But so were the all the signs leading up to this moment. Yet we're shocked and surprised at the ferocity of Earth's reprisal for our mindless actions as we continue to exploit her for all she's worth. And she's worth a lot. In fact, she's worth everything we need in order to survive.
Last year we watched in horror as the president of Brazil deliberately set fire to the lungs of the planet in the Amazon to allow illegal mining and cattle grazing. It's a tragic irony that the myriad plant life of the Amazon rainforest contains potential cures for our most virulent diseases, including the coronavirus.
While the inferno still raged in the Amazon, our attention turned to the bushfires in Australia. After months of horrific holocausts on two continents, the fires abated for a while. But there was no time for a collective sigh of relief; along came the coronavirus, which had no regard for manmade borders. It took on the world.
The myth that is unfolding is perfect in content and form. Mother Earth can write one hell of a story. Covid-19 attacks the upper respiratory tract. The most severe cases that lead to death are caused by acute pneumonia, which is an inflammation of the lungs. If that isn't retributive justice on a Biblical scale, I don't know what is. It's also a perfect metaphor. Nature is surely the greatest poet of all.
There is good news, however. Nature can keep this world in balance as long as we work with her; not against her. Instead, we've been selfish and greedy, and even had the hubris to try and "conquer" her. Conquering anything entails conflict and destruction. And the sin of greed consumes like a fire out of control, just as the deadly disease that was once called consumption destroys the lungs.
Now we've been given time to be still and quiet, and reflect upon Mother Earth's hard lesson. Let's pray we'll have learned it well by the time we come out the other side of all this. Nature is perfectly willing to share all that she has to offer. As long as we act in accordance with her laws, she will allow us to harness her bounty.
So mote it be.
- g.p.
If the worst thing I have to complain about is boredom, then I must be blessed. And I am - both bored and blessed.
So I'm posting a picture nobody cares about except me, because I painted it, and I'm not a painter. But it was something to do. Posting it on my little web was also something to do. As was photographing it, which I wouldn't normally do, but I was bored and needed something to do.
I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for covid-19.
Enough said.
g.p.
As the coronavirus continues to sweep away freedoms hitherto taken for granted, ordinary pleasures are harder to come by. Fortunately I live in a town small enough to allow for daily walks without creating gatherings of two or more. My long, solitary strolls have offered me the opportunity to pay attention to a wealth of mystery and beauty found in nature's details. Since the only other things I can do outside of the home are purchase essential items for isolated, indoor living, walking in familiar territory has become much more interesting.
Instead of standing back and admiring a beautiful scene, now I get up close and personal. I look at the bark of trees as I've never done before. I lay my hands on the trunk and feel the crusty folds of the bark. I see the beauty of dead and decaying matter that is returning back into the earth. A dead tree trunk in a graveyard holds as much significance for me as the gravestones that surround it.
In order to make life more interesting, i.e., magical, I've always sought meaning in the seemingly mundane. Now I feel as if all that exists is interesting, simply because I'm alive to appreciate it. It gives credence to the expression that life is a gift, something I haven't always believed. And covid-19 has had a hand in converting me. Go figure.
I look at the world more microscopically now. My scrutiny has provided me with a better understanding of all matter, both living and dead. I've come to realise that a cemetery contains as much life as it does death. I feel as if I matter because I am matter, just like the dead vegetation that inspires me.
On one of my recent rambles along the river that runs through the town's massive graveyard, I heard a woman screaming with an otherworldly ferocity that carried on for several minutes. Concerned that someone might be in danger, I followed the sound of the terrible shrieking to its source. Eventually I saw a young woman on the opposite side of the river. She had her back pressed up against a wire fence, arms spread wide in Christ-like fashion, as she howled like a banshee. Seeing a mortal woman wailing like an otherworldly being known to herald the arrival of death, and in a graveyard no less, was truly eerie. Even the most prosaic of people would have found the scene worthy of a horror story. It was dramatic irony at its creepy best, and truly weird* in the deepest sense of the word.
(*from the Norse wyrd, meaning fate and the web of entwined human destinies.)
Not everything I encounter in the graveyard invokes feelings of foreboding, however. Although I don't know anyone who's buried there, I am often flooded with memories of loved ones long gone. Even as my mind wanders through the corridors of my past, I feel completely rooted in the present, and grateful to be here.
Finding pleasure in weird stuff is easy, whereas delighting in ordinary, everyday things is another matter entirely. Yet covid-19 is managing to do that for me. Now I feel sensuous gratification in doing something as banal as buying soap. Although I probably have more soap than I need right now (goddess forbid I should become a hoarder), it's become a pleasure to spend time shopping - at a safe distance - for luxuriously scented, handmade, all natural, and minimally packaged soap. (I admit that sometimes I bend my own rules, as can be seen in the accompanying picture.)
Everything that's out there, no matter how ordinary it may seem, matters to me more. I'm finding a little beauty and purpose in all that is - even the dreaded coronavirus. That's because it has humbled humanity and brought us to our knees, an appropriate posture for prayer. Humility becomes us better than hubris, which is what got us into this mess in the first place.
Anyway, I'm still hugging Francis, (see Hugs All 'Round, 3/17) and am now embracing his sister/neighbour tree Hildegard. (I named her after Saint Hildegard von Bingen - medieval mystic, healer, herbalist, poet, musician and more. ) It's good to have physical contact with a living, breathing being. As for human huggery, I'm still giving out big, fat air-hugs whenever I can, while doing my best to ensure that the only thing I'm spreading is cheer and good will. And it's not even Christmas.
I suppose all my recent blurbs are a way of making lemonade out of lemons. But covid-19 isn't just sour, it's tainted. It saddens me to know that my sudden burst of creativity has come at such a high price. I'd prefer to be inspired by something less dire and isolating. Yet despite keeping my distance from everyone, I've never felt more a part of this world.
So mote it be.
- g.p.
Miļā Ingrida,
Daudz Laimes Vārda Dienā
un
I went for a long walk around the river that runs through town yesterday. There aren't many things a person can do outside of the home these days except go for a walk in open spaces, where it's easy to avoid crowds. I prefer to walk alone anyway.
During my happy walk around the river, I made a number of connections, despite keeping my physical distance from fellow walkers and runners. I felt strangely free and light-hearted, despite all the restrictions on human interaction that would normally make me feel anything but carefree. During my walk, which lasted just under two hours, I greeted numerous passers-by with a huge air hug.
"A big air hug to you!" I exclaimed as I spread my arms wide, matched by a wide grin from ear to ear. "I'm engaging in some friendly social distancing!"
The reaction was always the same. People smiled and laughed with me. There was an unspoken understanding that we're all going through this together. Some returned my air hug, others said a heartfelt thank you and wished me a great day. Everyone was glad to be greeted with joy and humour in these challenging times.
Social distancing separates us physically, but it doesn't mean we have to detach ourselves emotionally. In fact, my walk yesterday proved that compassion and understanding are being openly expressed more than ever. I didn't offer air hugs to perfect strangers as a way of attracting attention to myself, although it certainly did do that. I wanted to weave a web of connection that active social distancing would seem to belie.
By the time I got home I was filled with hope and optimism. Despite the underlying gloom of forced separation, I had hopes that maybe, just maybe, we might emerge from all this into a better, kinder world. Covid-19 is slowly dissolving my usual inclination towards misanthropy, toilet paper hoarders notwithstanding. People aren't as bad as I used to think they were.
I'm taking another walk today, and sharing some air hugs as I go. I want to help weave a web of healthy solidarity. Feeling kindly towards my fellow human beings gratifies me. It makes me feel good to make someone else feel good.
Although I'm not going to say I'm grateful for the coronavirus, I've certainly learned a lot about myself lately. And that's saying a lot for someone given to self-reflection as much as I am. The number of blurbs I've posted in the last week is testament to that.
It would be preferable, of course, if we didn't need adversity to reveal the best of our selves; but it's only the best and strongest part of human nature that overcomes adversity. Amid all the worry and fear, I see sacrifice and altruism from ordinary, every day heroes. And that leaves me wondering - what's my better self going to do if I run out of toilet paper?
g.p.
After posting the previous blurb, I went to the nearby drug mart for some food and toilet paper. Just as I was about to enter the store, an elderly man walking behind me stumbled and fell hard on his knees. I quickly moved to help him back up to his feet. I offered my arm to support him, which he gratefully accepted. He didn't appear to be harmed in any way, except that one of the knees of his trousers was torn. Better that than a torn ligament.
We exchanged the usual "Are you all right?" and "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," words that come up when these public little mishaps occur. As I walked away I suddenly realised I'd had physical contact with a perfect stranger, and a very elderly one at that.
"Oh for heaven's sakes , I forgot about social distancing," I blurted aloud, (mostly) joking. "We've touched each other!" I laughed to make sure he knew I wasn't really disturbed by our encounter.
"Well, I guess it's okay to make jokes about it," he replied.
I was a bit taken aback by his response. "Why, you're not feeling symptomatic, are you?" I kept my tone light.
He relaxed a little. "No no. I'm fine really." I could see that he was reacting the same way anyone else would. It's hard to know how to deal with an ordinary situation in far from ordinary times.
Moments after we parted, I found myself thinking Oh dear, what have I done? He's got to be an octogenarian, they're more susceptible to the virus. They have weaker immune systems Oh geez.
Then I very quickly came back to my senses. Suddenly I felt ashamed for entertaining the notion that I might have done the wrong thing by helping an old man. Of course I didn't. What I did was good and right. I went to his aid without thinking. It was one of those circumstances when doing the right thing is instinctive.
Perhaps if my life had been in immediate danger, my instinct for self-preservation might have elicited a more selfish reaction. But that was far from the case. And as I sit here writing this a couple of hours later, I'm not worried that I put myself into any health risk that may be looming on the horizon. But this whole coronavirus business has certainly made me more aware of my actions and interactions. That can only be good.
The little episode this morning certainly was an eye opening experience. I've learned something about myself that I wasn't entirely sure about before - I'm basically a good person.
I'm also a vain person, which I've admitted a few times on this little web o'mine. (Irish contraction for a Saint Patrick's day blurb. By the way - hope you have a nice one, given the current situation and all.)
Anyway - where was I? Oh yeah. I'm vain, and most of the time my vanity serves me well. So does kindness. Now I suppose those of you less concerned with your appearance than I - and that's most people - wonder how vanity can be equated with kindness. Well, wouldn't you know, I recently read a quote that explains it all...
Kindness does wonderful things to a face.
- g.p.
p.s. The store was out of toilet paper - again.
Most of the things that give me joy or pleasure have been postponed or closed until further notice. That includes my yoga practise, two writers' workshops, and watercolour classes. And this morning I went to the one refuge that always lifts my spirits - the library - and it was closed, too. I couldn't even shove my books down the after-hours return slot because it was locked shut.
At least there's one pleasure that hasn't been taken from me - walking. I live in a beautiful town surrounded by bucolic countryside that has many nature walks and trails in and around it. Thank goddess that's still available to me.
The lockdown of so many public places and services does have an upside, however. It's proving to be good for the environment. More people are staying at home, which means they aren't driving cars as much, and of course overseas travel has declined considerably. Not only is there less world-wide fuel emission, there are a lot fewer people creating garbage in major tourist centres. China and Italy have reported that the quality of air and water has noticeably improved since the coronavirus outbreak. Thank goddess for small mercies.
As for embracing social distancing (an oxymoron if there ever was one - I read it on the Web somewhere) I'm mostly fine with that. Thanks to a life changing trip to Peru last year, I've only recently learned how to hug properly; but now I must revert to my well practised "air hugs." Not that I see or meet many people to air hug these days anyway. So I'm hugging trees instead.
There's a very large, old maple tree on the front lawn of my home. I call him Francis, after two gentle souls - my maternal grandfather, and the patron saint of ecology, Francis of Assisi. As fate would have it, or maybe I intuited that something was up, I began my tree hugging campaign some time before the covid-19 crisis was in full swing.
Now I have more reason than ever to hug Francis every day. I want to touch something that's alive and strong and beautiful. Unfortunately, Francis is not the healthiest of trees, because he's very old and his best days are past him. But that's all the more reason for me to give him daily hugs. I want to let him know he's loved. And although he may be ailing, at least he's not contagious.
Maybe the coronavirus is Mother Earth's way of healing some of the horrible things we've done to her. Since the coronavirus only affects humans, it's forcing us to give a long, hard look at what we do to the planet and each other. It's good to see that people are at last paying attention, even if it's only out of concern for themselves. The effects, however, are far reaching. When this is all over, and it will be over - let's hope sooner than later - perhaps humanity will have learned a deep lesson on how we are all connected - to each other and the beautiful earth that is our home.
And now I'm going for a long, solitary walk and hug some trees along the way.
- g.p.
There is good news, however. Nature can keep this world in balance as long as we work with her; not against her. Instead, we've been selfish and greedy, and even had the hubris to try and "conquer" her. Conquering anything entails conflict and destruction. And the sin of greed consumes like a fire out of control, just as the deadly disease that was once called consumption destroys the lungs.
