OUR PLACE IN ETERNITY

This winter evening, I am strangely alone by the sea.  One thing I notice is that when the ocean is loud, the rhythmicality of the sound is akin to silence.  When you can hear nothing but waves in an unchanging pattern, it can seem like being in the midst of quietness.  This is especially true in that unique darkness that lives at the sea.  I stayed outdoors in my down jacket as long as I could.  Then the chill took over.  Do you feel that we never run out of good places to be?  

Yet even as I write, I am brought up short by the thought of the Ukrainians and others cold or hungry or frightened while I am enjoying the early night, warm in my coat and aware that supper is mine for the making. We know about the "andness" of life.  While some of us are happy, others of us are sad.  We have each been on both sides of that "and" I suspect, although most are not living in the daily presence of war.  

Still, Hanukkah and Christmas are on their way.  They come for those of us in the momentary glow of a peaceful starry night and they come for all who suffer. Perhaps for them most of all.  And of course, what we hope is that even in extremis we can take a moment to look at the stars at night or hear birdsong at daybreak or find a flower in a crack or let the waves give us a place in eternity, and in those ways find hope or consolation.  

Tonight I am thankful and do not want to let that pass.  Good wishes to all.  Nina Naomi    

WHAT CONSOLES US?

2020 "Anything but Ordinary"

I've been tracking the coronavirus in my collage art.  It's a way of coping.  Everyone I hear from seems to share a way of coping or two.  Most include a little binge watching of something.  Baking, which I'm not good at, could win a contest.  My family plans to social distance with two other families, three cars and several canoes today.  But for me, collage art helps me both be creative and mourn.  

We're at such poles, aren't we?  Yesterday in a message thread I responded that the peace we're sharing would be so lovely if it weren't for the threat of a deadly virus.  We're, most of us, working hard at our resilience.  Maybe, like I wrote in "Life at a Deeper Level," 11/22/19, rather than return to where we were, post-traumatic growth will take hold.  Do you see some of that?  Changed priorities, a greater sense of personal strength, spiritual growth.

"Still Home but OK"

Most days I feel like this:  Still home but OK.  But sometimes I wonder why we have no national mourning.  Finally the New York Times, as we approach a death-toll of 100,000 in the US, listed their names.  Finally--but only because it's Memorial Day weekend--the flags are at half-staff.  As we cheer the hospital workers, I wish we would also collectively honor the dead.   

On those days when maybe we don't feel so much like we're OK, it may be because we identify with those who have lost someone. It isn't you; it isn't me; but it is someone.  Someone who couldn't take one more breath. That makes us the lucky ones.  I do feel that every day I'm not sick, don't you?  Lucky.

May 1 "Mapping Your World" 63,535 confirmed dead

In May I started to incorporate the number who have died in the US into my collage art.  Sort of to allow pause to pay my respects.  
 

May 14 "Light the Candles" 86,599 confirmed dead

May 23  98,182 confirmed dead

We go on.  I'm (thankfully) not in charge of anything. My neighbor is an internationally known leader in vaccine development.  God bless his team.  Other people are planning for safe schooling in the fall.  Many are trying to make ends meet at half-capacity . . . .  The people I know aren't the ones mingling in crowded pools with no thought for tomorrow. 

My job is among the easiest.  Stay home or wear a mask when out, safe-distance, wash my hands and take every precaution I can not to catch or spread this disease.  Be kind and show love at every opportunity. In that way can I respect and honor the dead and the living.  This consoles me.  I hope your role consoles you too.  Peace, Nina Naomi