PANDEMIC DIARY

BUSY IN MY HEAD
February 15, 2022

TRUE STORY: On Sunday, Adele and I along with another couple went for a walk along a harbor pier that extended into the shoreline rocks alongside wooden stanchions standing in the water reaching skyward and providing a perch for large gulls and pelicans. One pelican flew onto the rocks just below us so viewing could be up front and close. A family was already standing there watching the pelican and their son was chatting away with such clearly articulated thoughts I had to ask how old he was. Well, he just turned five years old. I went up to him and asked him, “What if a Peli-can’t?”. He turned wearing a kid’s smirk and shot back, “That’s not funny…DUDE”.

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A POEM:

Death is an acquaintance I nod at while passing,
without shaking hands or asking, “how y’a doing”?
like a neighbor walking their dog in the quiet of morning’s
dawn or a runner in the middle of a good sweat,
eyes rolling back in her head and heaving with exhaustion.
I don’t invite Death to stand still. I keep myself and
it occupied knowing that on one of the walks around
the block on some warm summer day or in the midst of
a maelstrom it will stop, notice me…and smile.

Death is like that. It has no plan, no design, no
date certain; neither is Death random or without
association with you and the life you lead. Its nothing to
perseverate about and yet, it may be something you
want to keep in mind as you go about your days.
As a child, I used to talk to Death, but Death did not respond…
although, it wasn’t completely silent either. It’s presence is such that,
like a phantom, or like Harry’s Potter’s Invisibility Cloak, one
feels its presence and is unsure of what one is sensing.

Indeed, its odd that as I age I feel more accommodating with
Death, which suggests something is operating other than time.
I imagine my psyche to be playing a role and although my
cellular structure is slowly failing, my brain capacity diminishing, I find
my attitude has settled. Resistance has yielded to resolution. Disparities
and contradictions pass without comment. I experience something
larger at work and I accept its Nature. This recognition has
conformed me to gladly compliant. Maybe this is what is meant by
being ‘One and With’. I’ll go along with this for now.

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Well, here we go again. A time of year when the faithful assert their fidelity with pedestrian rhymes, stale sentiments and trifles of trite earnestness while the adulterous disguise their cheating hearts with poetry’s perfidy. Everyone considers Valentine’s Day a farce - an annual excuse to mollify bad behavior - whether to appease or tranquilize a relationship that is faltering or add richness and sustenance to re-nesting happy lovebirds.

But, today I am thinking otherwise. We can bring more to the idea and design of Valentine’s Day. Certainly, it can continue as a testament to love - love for a spouse, love for family, and love for friends. Indeed, “love for” describes the necessary adjunct of relationship. Love is relational. It is you and the subject of that love you feel. In that sense, love is so much more than a kiss and an embrace. It is the admiration and caring for another. It is the act of appreciation, more meaningful than infatuation; the intimacy of acknowledgement, more personal than distant admiration; much more than sentimental; it is abiding more than adoring, honoring and respecting more than acceptance; it is forgiveness in place of willful magnanimity.

All of this came to mind while writing a Valentine’s Day Card to my wife. All of this came to me while reading ‘Sapiens’. What a depressing book. Humans, to the author, are either ‘subject to’ or ‘incapable of’…you name it. The mess we’ve made is inherent to the specie - our urge to dominate; our reliance on Wheat; our inability to manage large populations; our belief in Gods; our interminable desire for and pursuit of money. Our innate framing of “Us vs. Them”. We will never get what we had. We never had what we wanted. And, now we cannot catch up to technology. We’ve created a game and don’t know the rules. I haven’t figured out yet if the game is corrupt or the players…or both. But, this can’t end well. If you can never get enough of what you want, you are always wanting for more.

Yet, I have never felt so much love. Has love become a privilege? Do you have to afford love? Is Love a stage of life? Does everyone pass through it? I don’t know. Honestly, I do not know. I don’t know anything anymore. All I can observe is the feeling spurred allowing myself to feel the love I feel for my wife. The card did not say it all. My thoughts in those moments did not say it all. I do not know if I am capable of saying it all. I am not going to try. I will just remain grateful that I can still feel in spite of all that is going on around me.

PANDEMIC DIARY

TIME
SEPTEMBER 13, 2021

TIME
Time is the essence of everything -
the backdrop of existence, the
hum of universal evolution, a parade of
creation and destruction. Time has no direction,
no inference, does not seek to achieve or accomplish.
There is no persuasive purpose to Time.

Time knows not [nor anguishes] of our existence.
It is detached from any claim of its presence.
It is not sympathetic, congenial, apathetic, or
antagonistic to life. Time need not assert its
impartiality. Time is neutral. Play with time as
you will; it is the ‘Play Dough’ of space.

Time is not measurement. It possesses no forward or
backward. It embodies all but takes no accounting.
All is free to interact. Time asks no questions, pursues
no answers, and bothers not with results, calculations,
outcomes or resolutions. Indeed, time allows capable
beings of manipulating it. A deception time would
laugh at…if it cared at all.

Time is blind to the condition of humankind
or for that matter Earth, our solar system,
our Star, the Milky or any other ‘Way’.
Its indifference is a feature of a
loving Nature. It isn’t phased if you are
with it, in it or out of it. Time has already
mastered Endlessness.

Time is constant - not moving ahead or
getting behind, not speeding or slowing down,
is unawares of seconds, minutes, hours,
days, years, centuries, or eons. It does not
parse even as we are free to order time.
Oh, the tick and tock of folly.

Time seeks not to overseer, control or
dominate. It is neither wasteful nor efficient.
It will not ‘leave things on the table’ or rush to
get things done. Time does not allot,
estimate, calculate, or total. In fact, do with
Time as you will. Time is disinterested.
Have at it.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————He laid there, his body like a bloated shipwreck, his breath causing an ever so slight rising and falling like faint waves keeping him afloat. His great white and gray beard added to the allusion of the sea as if he arose from its depths to command the surface - a passing Poseidon - taking his place one last time at water’s helm as all sea creatures awaited his last words. Will was not a god; he would soon die.

There were no words as I entered the vacantly occupied room of scarce life - white walls, white sheets, wires and tubes and white machinery counting time in persistent, nagging beeps. I am not sure why the living approach the dying slowly and with care, as if a misstep might trigger an early death. Maybe its out of some strange regard for the moment, how we step forward representing the somber, serious and austere mood. I moved to his bedside at a funereal pace not wanting to wake Will if he was sleeping.

Will’s body was a bulwark of masculine volume - his barrel chest enormous; his arms set apart lying atop the sheets were the remains of his primal muscularity; and every exposed part covered with woolly body hair. His presence a testimony to his youthful force. It made me immediately think of those times when we would argue over the meaning of art. Our disagreements were always a quarrel, friendly but contentious, the memory initiating a regretful smile knowing I would never sit over coffee quibbling with him again.

I leaned over him and just above a whisper said, “Will, it’s David”. He lurched. I stood leaping backward in that moment not anticipating he could hear me. Had he actually responded. I knew he was present. By god, he was in there, somewhere deep inside of him was consciousness. I turned toward the door to see if anyone witnessed this arousal. No one was present and I thought to myself, “I cannot speak of this. They will think that I am crazy. He was comatose. I felt like I had just witnessed a fleeting UFO, sure of its presence but not willing to testify because I would never be believed. His reaction would certainly be attributed to a reflex of the nervous system and not awareness. It certainly didn’t change anything. He was not going recover. He was not ever going to pick up a brush and paint another scene or fashion another sculpture.

I only had a few minutes with him before I was to be asked to leave by the members of the family who were waiting on the other side of the door. So, I began to talk to him. “Oh, you’re awake. Do you remember the time…” Will’s body moved, heaved at times like a paltry laugh. I began to cry believing he was responding to me in some distant way. His mind somewhere in the remote cosmos of time. His message seemingly communicated over the scratchy interference of space. I felt privileged to be by his side. But, I did not want his last moments to be one of dread. I wiped my tears and contrived a cheery demeanor.

It was almost time to leave. What are the appropriate parting words, I wondered? How does one say goodbye? I took his hand in mine. I told Will I love him. I expressed what he means to me. It felt so banal and inadequate. There was more to relate, more to tell, but the words were buried by the immensity of feeling. Finally, “Your family is waiting to see you, Will. I will leave now, my friend.” He yanked my hand with an assuring, near undetectable strength. Will gestured his final goodbye for me.