Most of my friends are working from home now (or trying to work from home while also simultaneously acting as IT person for their children all day). A lot of my friends are in the kind of jobs that require them to work and interact with the public. It’s retail season. I worry for them. I am certain the Post office will see a higher number of packages sent out this December.
And still, people are planning holiday visits…
I fear the numbers will climb after Thanksgiving.
I keep praying it does not get worse. I remind myself that we only know what we know until we learn it to be untrue. The science will change as we learn new things about this particular virus. It's important that we stay open to that. The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.
I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.
And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.
It's a simple ritual.
It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.
This month's death toll went up again.
In November, we lost thirty-six
thousand seven-hundred and sixty-eight Americans.
36,768
That's near the total
population of the city of Valley Stream, NY in 2010.
Since the rise of the pandemic
288,894 Americans have died of it.
Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash
your hands. Stay six feet apart. We can do this. May we all come out
the other side.
[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They
have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around
the exact number.]
*
A
Contemplative Poem for the Month
Today
Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word.
I’m letting all of the voodoos of
ambition
sleep.
The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a
little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting
eaten.
And so forth.
But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m
traveling
a terrific distance.
Stillness. One of the doors
Into the temple.
~ Mary Oliver
