Fierce Grace in Frightening Times by Mary Sharratt

 

The Covid 19 pandemic had turned our lives upside down on a global scale. What we as a collective could not possibly have anticipated ever happening to privileged Western people has become our new normal as we are forced into lockdown and social isolation.

Ironically, apart from travel plans being canceled, my day-to-day life hasn’t changed that much. As a freelance writer, I’ve always worked from home and my workload and deadlines remain unchanged. In fact, many freelancers and remote workers feel pressured into greater productivity now that they are “stuck at home” with few other diversions. To me, this pressure to carry on business as usual amid a news stream of ever increasing infection and deaths feels sickeningly schizoid. Jocelyn K. Glei, in her brilliant podcast series Hurry Slowly, discusses this phenomenon of productivity shame. Continue reading “Fierce Grace in Frightening Times by Mary Sharratt”

Persistent Beauty by Molly Remer

I knelt beside a sprinkling
of deer fur
dotted with delicate snowflakes.
Don’t take a picture of that,
my husband said,
people will think it is gross.
I don’t find it gross.
I find it curious.
I find it surprising.
I find a story.
Sometimes I feel like
I have to battle a horde
of demonic trolls
before I can take care of myself,
I tell him,
and yet somehow,
I say,
always,
always,
I find my life is still a poem,
in the quietude,
in the battling,
on my knees in brown gravel
to better see this spray of fur
and how the frost
glows like white stars.

I sit on a stone in the pines and let the winds come, sweeping my hair back and lifting my lamentations from my forehead, where they have settled like a black cloud.

I let the air soften my shoulders and my sorrows, sunshine bright on thick brown pine needles, slickly strewn across the steep hill. Continue reading “Persistent Beauty by Molly Remer”

“Tree of Life” Dream by Sara Wright

Full Seed Moon 3/9/20

I see a beautiful fruit tree that is in full bloom with delicate pink blossoms and a man comes and attacks it violently – Oh, all the blossoms fall away, drifting tears cover the ground. Before this the little tree had bloomed “forever,” but man brought death to the blossoming tree and to the tree of life itself.

Little interpretation is necessary to understand this dream on a collective level. The Tree Holocaust is upon us. The Anthropocene is destroying more forests every second.  Billions of trees. The lungs of the earth. The Beings that gift us with rain. We have less than three percent of intact forest left on this planet.

“Man” represents the age of the Anthropocene – each one of us – male or female. Every human being on this earth is complicit in tree obliteration and the terrifying violence associated with this slaughter. It’s important to note that the tree is weeping. (My sense is that the tree isn’t just weeping for being murdered but that s/he is weeping for those who would annihilate her/him). Continue reading ““Tree of Life” Dream by Sara Wright”

Coronavirus: The Villain Is Not Mother Nature: It Is Ourselves by  Carol P. Christ

Over the past few weeks of lockdown in Greece, I have asked myself numerous times: if we can shut down the world economy because of a virus, why don’t we shut everything down until we end war or find real solutions to global climate change? In my mind the horrors of war are much worse than the horrors of disease and dying and the threat and reality of global extinctions pose a much greater threat to humanity (not to mention nature) than the Coronavirus.

Why is it that we are willing to take extreme measures to defeat the Coronavirus but we are not willing to take extreme measures to end war or to stop global climate change? A thought keeps creeping into the back of my mind: the fight against disease and death is (understood to be) a fight against Mother Nature and (sadly) we are well used to fighting against Her. If we recognized that human beings have brought the Coronavirus upon ourselves, we would have to face up to our responsibility for it. Continue reading “Coronavirus: The Villain Is Not Mother Nature: It Is Ourselves by  Carol P. Christ”

“Not If But When” by Barbara Ardinger

As I’m writing this early in March, the CDC has recently said of the outbreak of the coronavirus (Covid-19) that it’s a question of “not if but when” the epidemic will strike the U.S. As we know, it started in China, where it was underreported. Some U.S. cities are setting up quarantine centers, the Faux New Channel is now proclaiming conspiracy theories about the origin of the virus, and Mr. Trump has appointed Mr. Pence to be Coronavirus Czar. Which would be fine if either man believed in science.

We’ve seen epidemics and pandemics before—the post-World War I Spanish Flu, HIV/AIDS, Ebola, SARS, the avian and swine flus, and many more. This new disease as already killed people on six continents. My purpose here is to briefly review two books in which a pandemic is a major plot driver. You know those books you read and keep and go back to again and again? Two of my go-to novels are Station Eleven (2014) by Emily St. John Mandel and Doomsday Book (1992) by Connie Willis. Continue reading ““Not If But When” by Barbara Ardinger”

Are Your Shackles Showing? Hyperbole, Metaphor or Shades of Reality? by Karen Tate

Note: These Comments Might Trigger You
You’ve been held in a windowless room for a long time.  So long, you can’t remember how long it’s been.  You have shackles on your ankles.  Sometimes you can see beyond your sleeping pad, sometimes not so much.  You’re instructed to perform tasks assigned to you according to the will of your captor.   Most days you work so long you feel as if you’ll drop.  Sometimes you have enough food to eat, other times not.  It’s cold and damp in this holding cell where you’ve lived most of your life.  You’ve been sick here, but you have no access to a doctor.  You’ve been beaten regularly, physically and verbally,  for infractions perceived by your captor.   You still have the bruises.  You’ve not been outside this place for so long you’ve stopped scraping the number of days you’ve been held captive onto the walls. 
But, sometimes, you can faintly hear a voice whispering to you from the outside.  It’s a voice that calls to you in quiet moments when the usual crushing noise more easily heard doesn’t drown it out.  It’s hard to understand the words the voice is speaking.  They sound so foreign to you.   The voice suggests there is something else outside this cell.  When you ask your captor about it, the reply is always the same…laughter, mocking, anger.  So you become afraid to listen.


Then one day your captor gets careless.  Or maybe you’re listening closer.  The incessant noise seems less.  Your captor forgot to lock the shackles on your ankles and bolt the door.  You hear the voice outside.  It offers you something else.  It sounds too good to be true.   You’ve heard your captor say as much.   You’d been told that the voice offers empty promises that will never become reality.   But you ask yourself how much longer you can go on here?  So, you stand up at your sleeping pad.  Your legs are shaking.  The hair is standing up on the back of your neck  and carefully, timidly, you walk toward the unbolted door.   You reach out.  Your hand is shaking as you place it on the knob.  You see the red marks from old bruises on your wrists.  Something inside you knows you no longer can tolerate this cell.  Only, it’s all you’ve ever known, or it’s all you remember.

It’s your moment of truth.  You might not get this chance again in your lifetime.  Do you turn the knob?  Do you step across the threshold and move toward the voice?  Or do you shrink back, fearfully choosing the familiar, the devil you know?  Do you choose the somewhat reliable crumbs  laced with indifference and resentment your abuser has been dishing out for years?  Can this really be all there is?  Or can you find it in yourself to take a leap of faith?  Are you going to continue a life of institutionalized abuse and exploitation or are you going to walk across the threshold into a different  life?

Continue reading “Are Your Shackles Showing? Hyperbole, Metaphor or Shades of Reality? by Karen Tate”

The Time My Kids Broke Me Out of Jail by Trelawney Grenfell-Muir

When I was a child, I liked and hated the game Monopoly. It was interesting and exciting, but it was also cutthroat, ruthless, competitive, and often seemed to involve cheating by the banker. My vague memories are mostly hurt feelings and distrust. So when my younger daughter Z pulled my ancient Monopoly set up from the basement and asked me to teach her how to play, I agreed with reluctance and trepidation.

My older daughter E noticed us playing after an hour or so and asked to join. Of course, E played at a significant disadvantage since she joined late. My trepidation increased. E was paying lots of rent but collecting hardly anything. The hurt feelings and distrust would erupt soon. I played grimly on, trying to act relaxed and cheerful as my dread mounted.

At one point, I couldn’t afford to pay rent to Z, so I mortgaged some properties. My daughters were horrified. “No, Mummy!” they kept repeating, “you don’t have to do that! We will give you some money!!” But, see, that’s not how The Game works, so I kept refusing their money. “It’ll be fine, honest!” I said, confused and unsure how to handle their anxious concern. I tried to be Nonanxious Presence Parent, modeling that I don’t mind losing The Game. They were equally confused. Why wouldn’t I accept their help? We played on. Continue reading “The Time My Kids Broke Me Out of Jail by Trelawney Grenfell-Muir”

Feeling Squeezed by Esther Nelson

Tyler Foggatt, associate editor of The New Yorker magazine’s, “The Talk of the Town series,” recently contributed (March 23) an essay titled “Cooped Up.”  She notes that China, the first country to shut down due to COVID-19, is now in the process of opening up.  More than ten million people in Xi’an, the capital of Shaanxi Province, were under lockdown.  She writes, “When restrictions were eased, earlier this month, the city’s [Xi’an] divorce rate spiked.”  Marital conflicts, often existing underneath the radar, bubble to the surface and sometimes explode during periods of quarantine (forced togetherness).

According to Foggatt, American psychologist Lawrence Birnbach predicts that the divorce rate in the U.S. will rise as the current pandemic unfolds.  Two of his patients, married to each other and self-quarantined together, reported they have argued more than ever, mostly having to do with how thoroughly (or not) one person washes their hands and wipes down surfaces.

I think many of us can relate to this.  Long before the current health crisis developed, my spouse and I went about our lives quite differently.  At times we clashed.  Keeping our distance from each other—even before social distancing became the “right” thing to do—was effective inasmuch as that strategy kept things from boiling over, at least most of the time. Continue reading “Feeling Squeezed by Esther Nelson”

The Healing Aspects of Ritual by Sara Wright

I have been writing and celebrating ritual for half of my life. The equinoxes and solstices and the cross quarter days (May 1, August 1, All Hallows, and February 2) comprise the eight spokes of the year. What I have learned from my research is that virtually every Indigenous culture follows this calendar in a general way – What I have gleaned from personal experience is that during these ritual periods my body is opened to the Powers of Nature in very specific ways that can be positive or/and negative.

Often I experience uncomfortable physical symptoms – feel an intense buzz, am struck by severe headaches, the feeling that I am walking on air without solid ground; I have unusual experiences with animals or plants; I am blind sided by radical insights in waking life or through dreaming. I have come to expect that usually there will be some kind of sign and if there isn’t one my body/mind isn’t in tune ritually and something is amiss – either my intentions, or the letting go (death) of some aspect of myself. The older I become the more I attempt to move through these periods with increased awareness that I am a receiver and need to be paying even closer attention… Continue reading “The Healing Aspects of Ritual by Sara Wright”

Last Will and Testament by Carol P. Christ

Just over a month ago and shortly before Greece went into Coronavirus lockdown, I signed the contract on my new apartment in Crete (after waiting 6 months for the owner to submit his paperwork). Though I did not realize it until I had been sitting in the notary’s office for several hours, the date of the signing was February 25, my father’s birthday. My father and I had a troubled relationship, due to the fact that he could not accept that I did not “know my place” in a world where women were expected to be submissive to men.

My father and I did not see each other during the last thirteen years of his life. After having received “the silent treatment” for two of the four months when I was teaching in California and living less than a mile away from him and his third wife, I had gradually come to the conclusion that I did not want to put either of us in the position where he could be cruel to me again. When he developed a heart problem a few years before he died, I decided not to visit. Nor did he ask me to do so. Continue reading “Last Will and Testament by Carol P. Christ”