A Coronavirus Chronicle #2

corona virus2

Time in quarantine,
for me,
bears the luxury, largely,
for this largely introverted soul, of quiet:
given to rambling about a spacious home with the one I love
and slow strolls

Clevedale driveway

about a graveled, crepe myrtle-canopied drive

Clevedale dawn redwood

and across verdant mown grass,
amid colorful flora rising at Nature’s bidding
to greet,
to celebrate the everyday’s sunrise,
the brilliant orb set in a less-polluted sky of blue;
whilst my mind gambols o’er expanses of thought,
murmuring wonders of imagined new normals.

Nevertheless, I (cannot help but) think of others…

All who dwell in vastly smaller spaces
and in far more crowded places
with greater numbers of the ailing,
thus, having to bear graver strictures
on daily living and moving and having being.

And all whose schedules, self-taught tempos of living
have been ravaged by this global-crown-of-thorns-virus;
if working, then teleworking:
their weekdays and weekends,
their individual and family mealtimes and bedtimes,
blending, crashing, one into another, indistinguishably, tumbling,
seconds, minutes, hours end on end;
endless questions, some without answer, arising, constantly self-repeating:
What time…day is it?
Where are we…going?
When does…will this end?

And all whose living has been lost;
they battering with hollow hands against closed doors
of empty, unlit buildings, forlorn sites of former labors,
praying for a call, a recall that may (never) come.

And all whose morns are swift followed by nights,
who sleepwalk through noonless days with no balance of light,
who stand in listless lines long made longer by social-distance orders;
folk long already socially-distant who,
having come in from their accustomed margins,
seeking food and water and shelter
from sweltering fears of greater deprivations than they already have borne.

And all who, as Lazarus, have fallen ill,
some into the sleep of death,
and without the nearness of the prayerful caress
of a Martha or a Mary, in hope, to call, to cry for help.

For the sake of these my sisters and brothers,
time in quarantine,
for me,
bears the necessary misery
of grief.

6 thoughts on “A Coronavirus Chronicle #2

  1. Oh how you have so eloquently summed up my thoughts. Thank you.

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    1. My dear Dianne, I thank you. It seems to me…it hath proven for me that with our coronavirus-induced quarantine, I have the proverbial and literal “time on my hands” to enter and remain in far more introspective inner spaces than is normative (even for me as an introvert or, as I’m wont to say, a professional extrovert). Be well, dear sister, stay well. Love

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  2. Paul,

    Read this a few times yesterday and again this morning. It’s Soothing for my pretty severe case of what I’ve named the Double G Syndrome – Guilt & Grief. Guilt for all that I have and Grief for spending more than 30 days thus far almost totally alone – grateful that God has been my companion. Your post captures it so well.

    Love

    Like

  3. My dear Loretta, know this… You were…are one of the people who came to mind as I reflected and wrote this piece, and for precisely the reasons/causes you state.

    Indeed, I empathize with you. For I, too, know that sense of guilt given all that I call “mine,” which, even in moments when, yes, I would wish to have more of “it” (whatever the “it” may be at any given time), it more than most folk of the billions of folk who share our planet and who, therefore, are members of our global family.

    And, for me, the grief has come in waves and has deepened over time, for I think, nearly continually, of all those – some known to me, most unknown – who do not have the freedoms or pleasures that I daily enjoy. I especially am saddened for the sakes of the ill and suffering; anguish that includes the families and friends of the sick and dying who cannot be present with their loved ones. In this, I am reminded that, o’er the years, whenever I’ve had occasion to ask folk what they fear most (or whenever, by virtue of the conversation we engaged, the matter arose), the most common response (by far): “I fear dying alone.” Thus, my heart is breaking, indeed, at moments, it is broken.

    I also thought of you, for I know you to be the quintessential “people-person;” one who finds refreshment in engaging others in real-time, face-to-face encounters. I pray you remain well in your soul and spirit in these times and days of isolation. As you attest, “God has been my companion.” Amen to that!

    Love you,
    Paul

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Thank you Paul! I printed out the post and put it on my desk. This is definitely an excruciatingly difficult time for everyone! I’ll keep praying!

    Love you too!

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  5. For you to print out something I’ve written/shared is a great honor. You humble me and I am grateful.

    Love

    Like

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