Three Truths and One Wish

1. Truth: Nothing has changed; everything is different. Routines from before that persist: cleaning up dog poop, laundry, paying bills, meditating, writing, blogging, napping, a big lunch, watching tv at night with Eric, walking dogs, putting clean sheets on the bed, reading in bed at night while Eric and the dogs sleep. New routines: wearing a clean mask every time we go out, washings masks a few times a week so we have plenty clean ones, the dogs “going to work” with Eric which means the room at the end of the hall that used to be my office, the dining room table being my new office, writing in front of my HappyLight while Eric works on the computer next to me, ordering groceries with an app and picking them up instead of going inside, texting my mom and brother almost every day, yoga classes on Zoom, Telehealth appointments with my therapist, regularly flossing my teeth, waiting outside while the dogs go inside to the vet, washing my hands all the time.

2. Truth: We are all tired. Even though it is always true that life is suffering and impermanent, there’s something heightened about that awareness right now. We are having to make space for all the things that haven’t changed, that continue to require our attention and effort regardless of what will happen tomorrow, the forward momentum of our lives. And yet, we also are holding space for grief and anger and confusion, the chaos of experience laid so bare there is no denying it (even though some are still making the effort). We are making a great effort to not give up, to keep going…here at the end of the world, in the middle of nowhere. And some days are harder than others.

3. Truth: My garden gives me solace. It’s a gift, a comfort in this confusion, this chaos, this uncertainty to still have the garden, the ground. This still works the same: start the seeds, prepare the ground, pull the weeds, amend the soil with compost, water when it needs it, plant some new things each year to continue to expand it. The timid tender promise that there will be a harvest, that there will continue to be this repetition of seasons in years to come as there has been in the years before, that seeds planted will bear fruit and flower. It is medicine and magic.

One wish: May we find comfort where we can, experience some ease and maybe even joy, and may suffering be eased — in ourselves and the world.

I'd love to hear what you think, kind and gentle reader.

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