There’s something about this imposed isolation–I’m sure you feel it too–that pushes hard against creativity–for me, anyway. It’s like I’m waiting. I’m sitting in the waiting room waiting for answers to a question I can’t even voice, can’t even imagine much less pronounce. Or maybe I’m just waiting to be called, unsure if I even have an appointment, if anyone knows my name, their own names,or if any of us exist at all.
Meanwhile, the free flow of our days now falls into tidy compartments: early morning exercises are followed by huddling around the news; Scrabble games and phone calls are punctuated by catching news updates; Tuesdays we compose online grocery list for Friday pick-up then check headlines; I drift away to write or read, attend to laundry or meals, but everything is weighted with current events.
Only moments sparkle, each precious moment is like the random sunbeam slanting between clouds, pushing its sweet way into the world,past dark phantoms, struggling to find a passageway for itself, to create a passageway for its fellows, to reach meand you, my garden, your rooftop, our spirits, our world.
Thank you, my darling friends, for sharing this moment with me, for the light and blessing you are to the world, for the sweetness of your being.