For Linda’s What Day Is It Anyway?
It feels like war, this pandemic. Like stories my grandmother told me of the great depression. Of course it’s not that bad but my reaction seems to be the same. I have convinced myself that if I don’t have something positive to say, I shouldn’t say anything and that has led to a lot of silence. I honestly don’t have any real opinions about what’s going on around me. I don’t want to contribute to the hysteria, the mass misinformation, or the blatant denial that I see everywhere. Life is not the picture of lock-down joy I’d like to believe, but rather a Monet, fuzzy and indistinct but beautiful all the same.
So much has changed in the past year that it’s hard to get a grip on where it’s all going. I float along in the vessel of my dreams, trying to adapt to the new flow, but I am stuck in a kind of paralysis. My creativity seems to have closed up rather like the shops and restaurants I never visited but now miss terribly. I cannot write, so I read. Whole books in a few hours, and oh thank goodness for my Kindle app. I clean, I sanitize, I cook, I craft. Crafting at the moment has been limited to making a variety of cloth facial masks.
I find that I am not alone in this suspended animation. Friends who are painters find they cannot paint, so they garden. Musicians cannot compose so they play Warcraft. Career women who cannot work are creating new casseroles, accountant’s without ledgers to balance have taken up tarot reading. It’s not a writer’s block that I’m feeling, it’s the trauma of a world gone sideways. I know that this will pass, that the stores will reopen, I’ll go back to work, creativity will flow again, for all of us. But for now I’ll try to remember “the dream is like a river, ever changing as it flows, and the dreamer’s just a vessel that must follow where it goes.”
The River Garth Brooks — Cover by Clayton Smalley
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP