A Stream of Consciousness

"We can't touch each other, but we can be touched by each other" -- Regina Wells, Healer

There is a lot to learn in this place we are in, but it takes a willingness to introspect and be vulnerable.

What does this time allow us?

Maybe it's granting us access to something truly unique: a true pause.
To consider what is important
To witness how the natural world reveals itself when we are absent
To love each other so damned much we would rather be alone than cause harm

We are witness to terrible, unnecessary fear
Why are so many so hungry when farmers have to throw their product away
Why are so many afraid they will lose their homes when the richest get paid out?
Why must we watch our friends and loved ones struggle to get aid?

I am not concerned with any of my own deprivation, because
There are people who are hungry
and people who are hurting
and people I cannot keep safe
and people I love out there, struggling with their fear who I cannot help.

I cannot help them. I cannot hold them. I cannot do anything but stay away from them, because I love them too much to do otherwise.

We have a deplorable in office, whose sole concern is his popularity,
and the money he never really had anyway
and whether or not he is right
and whether or not we are watching him
Was he abused as a child, and am I supposed to give a damn about that right now?

Here in the safety of my own situation, insecurity threatens. I am afraid; afraid of what I don't know.

I am concerned about how this could make us even more a nation of individualists, more concerned with getting what the individual needs as opposed to what is better for the community. There are people I know who are like closet alcoholics (one drink won't hurt), who are making concessions for social gatherings because (it's just my birthday, or it's Easter - we have to do this for the kids) and then proclaim that they are "in quarantine" and "social distancing".  It isn't for me to judge, per se' whether they are doing right or wrong, but it does make me question whether that is good for the community. Of course, it's good to be in the same room with those we are closest to, and yes, it's actually good for us to be in company. Our emotional health relies on connection. What I question is, am I potentially doing something harmful for the community -- my community?  To this end, I ask: by depriving myself of your good company, I am helping myself, for I want nothing more than for you to live and live and live.

The question in the back of my mind has been, "how long am I willing to forgo seeing my son and my grandchildren?" I have an answer in mind, and the explanation for that is simple; I cannot live endlessly without seeing them. I won't go six months and probably not over three months, but I can be in peace right now without seeing them.  Seeing me would do none of us any good if any one of us were to get sick, nor would death make a visit worthwhile. But I an unlikely to go much further into this year without seeing them. I have not seen my son and my granddaughter since February. I haven't seen my grandson since March 17th. I have not seen my favorite people in the entire world in two months.  How long am I willing to go without seeing them? In the back of my mind I know that if I were to end up in the hospital, they could not come to see me and thus I would have spent this entire time without them only to potentially die without seeing them.

I cannot reconcile this.

The quiet outside is extraordinary and a return to nature that we will likely never experience again in this lifetime. The sky is clear of airplanes. The sound of traffic on the freeway a couple miles away has dimmed. The general clang and clatter of construction work and street traffic no longer has to be filtered. I am reminded of my childhood when I spent my summers in the hills outside Garberville. When I slept outside in a large open meadow, surrounded by forest, and see all the stars in the sky at night, and the owls hooting echoed around us in the forest. Coyotes howled and we weren't afraid. When the stillness wasn't questioned, it was as it should be.

Intermittent social media posts share pictures of coyotes running down the street in San Francisco, a herd of deer in downtown Oakland, and wild turkeys roosting on cars.  I yearn to find an abandoned baby opossum, but I'd rather they stay safely holding tight to their rambling, Seussian mothers.

In a world filled with the noises of human commerce, I forget that quiet and the peace it brought. Right now, when I step outside there are so many birds -- far more than I ever have seen before. Are there more or are they just more noticeable? The tiniest of finches fill the tree in my front yard. I have missed the blue jays but now see a few here and there. For the first time ever, there are beautiful small birds with brilliant red feathers on their wings. I hear all of them singing, I don't know what they are. But they are here, and they are beautiful and I don't want them to disappear when humans take back over control of the world.

I need to read the Lorax again, because I now know once we disappear, the earth truly does abide and she will come back with force once we completely annihilate our species.

  “I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” - Frank Herbert, Dune