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Shortness of breath sounding like a flat tire and enervating weakness compel the directive, Pause! My walker and continuous oxygen support sinking into my arm chair and propping my legs upon an upturned wicker basket. Across from me, a male cardinal alights upon the board fence, its black face communing with the sun.
With each breath more evenly spaced, I begin hearing from my depths, You are just what I need. Moments evaporate like sun-drenched droplets upon the sidewalk after a sudden storm. Another communion relishes my distress, until the next pause.
Imperceptibly, more darkness seeps into the next moment, withdraws warmth from what had been greening, prompts the extra sweater, necessitates switching on fixtures and headlights, even beclouds sinfulness. Months of this tenebrous world loom ahead, with months of deepening awareness, critical for maneuvering safely. Too many have experienced falls upon black ice, fender-benders, sickness.
Yet, darkness has its own riches: slowing down, observing the next step, relishing its womb-like embraces, marveling at starry nights, entering the realm of stillness, listening to heart-stirrings, discovering nuances of meaning, releasing tears. If opened to its dailyness, dreams emerge, shadowy bedrooms invite deeper sleep, senses of touch and hearing and smelling sharpen and recreate our world.
The prophet Isaiah speaks to this consoling mystery: I form the light and create the darkness. I, the Lord, do all these things.
Within such darkness, we learn to see, anew.
This quote from Arundhati Roy, an Indian author, actress, and political activist, prompted me to share it with others:
“What is this thing that has happened to us? It’s a virus, yes. In and of itself, it holds no moral brief. But it is definitely more than a virus.
“It has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and forth, longing for a return to normalcy, trying to stitch our future with our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists.
“And in the midst of this terrible despair it offers us a chance to rethink the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. Nothing could be worse than a return to normalcy. Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew.
“This one is no different. It is a porthole, a gateway between one world and the next. We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoking skies behind us.
“Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage and ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.”
Heart Whisperings 