You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Covid-19’ tag.

Cancel, postpone, delay, reschedule, suspend, shelve, wait, dispense, put off, disrupt—such verbs prod attention toward unwelcome change, still provoked by Covid-19. Few areas of our lives have escaped the implications of living around its irritant: for some, death occurs.

Quarantine, shelter in place, social distancing, masking and gloving—such nouns mess with communication, intimacy, breathing, and social relating. Gesturing hugs don’t work for me. Such inconvenience tests patience, even raises questions about government regulations, with more states opening up for business.

Such experience dulls the sharpness of the crisis and seeks the comfort/unconsciousness of “the old ways.” Yet the Covid-19 crisis remains, unabated until the protective vaccine is in place.

From my perspective, this crisis mirrors my own: living with terminal illness, also with respiratory issues. Long months of praying, study, and blogging have filled empty spaces with ultimate truth and longing for eternal life. Yet, I’m not immune to the dark games in my psyche that have always wanted me dead before my time.

Like the deadly virus, the snaky hair of the Greek Medusa stings me into unconsciousness, leaving me vulnerable to assaults: terror triggers the “I can’t do it” attitude: learned helplessness from childhood; intense sadness-bordering-on-pain; dry weeping/heaving; rage and depression, voicelessness—my self-care ritual, albeit within limits, beached upon muddy bottoms. Hands clutching my head, Monster powerlessness threatens to eat me alive.

So my spiritual warfare deepens for which there is no vaccine, other than the practice of CPA’s Twelve Steps. They do work.

The tomb is still empty.

It remains so.

No need to seek the living among the dead.

 

 

For the present, I’ll post daily blogs every few days instead of daily. Thanks for your interest.

 

 

 

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In view of the Covid-19 pandemic, the symbol of the Fourth Horseman in the Apocalypse (Rev. 8:7-8) comes to mind. Plague, mounted upon a deathly pale horse and missioned to kill, seems to have untrammeled access to minds and hearts around the world, my own among them. Everyone admits something is very wrong and looks to experts in government, medicine, and the economy to fix it.

But is this disorder fixable? Seems to me that it runs deeper than developing a new vaccine, consulting the credentialed, and passing more deficit spending bills to resolve this issue. At best, a Scotch Tape remedy might work for the short term, but come unglued with passing of time. So where is the primary locus of this infection, still stalking its victims?

It’s the last place anyone has the courage to visit—our unconscious. Therein, hides our shadow, discovered and mapped by the Swiss psychiatrist Carl G. Jung in the early 1900s. Pride relegates unseemly attitudes, behaviors, and motives into this stinking morass, then padlocks the door, and throws away the key. Illness festers.

But only through delving into our hidden stuff, acknowledging what we find there, and clearing it out can we experience wholeness in our outer world. Critical to this process are honesty and humility, virtues perceived by many as outdated.

However, Jesus of Nazareth left explicit instructions for graced living in the Sermon on the Mount; its practical application, within the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, thanks to Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob. Only with exercise will we bear fruit and keep the likes of Plague cast in outer darkness.

The Sacred Triduum, opening today, invites us to remember the Jesus mysteries and give thanks.

 

 

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