Wednesday, April 1, 2020
Ambiguity. Existing in the not-quite-here and yet-to-come,
where fear and anxiety wed, lifting cortisol and adrenaline.
As each day passes, glimpses of our new reality
come trickling, then tumbling into view.
Rules and protocols thought to be sacrosanct,
are exchanged for strategies to cope with the unimaginable.
Solid rocks beneath our feet actually do feel like shifting sand.
Grief. Heaviness upon our spiritual and physical shoulders.
Loss of what was known to be true and what we thought we would be.
Loss of life collides with loss of mourning ritual with loss of presence.
Fear amplifies our cries and clouds our tears.
Even as the weight seems overwhelming, we carry on.
For patients and partners, for colleagues and children.
We compel the sands to consolidate back into solid rock.
Hope. Trusting in the continuance of who we are despite
horrific media reports and rampant, destructive rumors.
Red and purple and yellow tulips sprout up and bloom,
competing with bird song and leafing trees.
They remind humankind that life renews and is strengthened,
especially after the darkest and coldest of nights.
Green shoots decorate the spaces between solid rocks.
Humor. Why is the laughter of a baby so infectious?
And why do we watch cat videos when feeling discouraged?
How is it that our mind and body cooperate to
apprehend and express the ludicrousness of the absurd?
The ability to laugh in ambiguous situations or when all seems lost;
to giggle and snicker when fear threatens and tears beg to flow
is like a cleansing breath while resting on solid rock. Blessed solid rock.