The virus is spreading rapidly in the big cities. The news from my friends in New York City is something of a nightmare. What we're hearing out of Italy is frightening.
I am reading all of the science as it comes out. I am also praying it does not get worse. 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.
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. That
isolation is necessary. This month's death toll
multiplied. I can barely hold the number in my mouth.
In April, we lost fifty-five thousand, three hundred, and thirty-two
Americans.
55,332
That's near the total population of White Plains, NY in 2010.
Light a candle. Say
a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If
you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been
exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you.
Video chat with your loved ones. 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
I Worried
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow,
will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the
earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be
forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the
sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just
imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come
to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
~ Mary Oliver
