Living from the Heart, Michelle's Memoir, Poetry

The Chronology of Cuarentena

24 March. When will it end? I wonder though trying not to. Trying to be present. Being present. Two different things.

25 March. We all want to know: what does the future hold? There’s a sense of nostalgia (for two weeks ago, a month ago, last year, childhoods of decades past). It’s a time of shifting paradigms. Of urgency. Of stillness and solitude and surrender.

26 March. I notice myself eating and smoking way too much as an attempt to control. To have control over my life, my experience, gain pleasure, however temporary.

27 March. Quarantine, but I’m not counting the days. I sunburnt myself yesterday. After having stayed home for a week, I went to the lake and laid on the rocks and soaked up the sun a little too much and now my heart and throat and shoulders are pink and tender. It was glorious though. Jumping into the cool water – letting go of preoccupations – exerting myself – I’m far too sedentary these days.

29 March. Engulfed by education / Stockpiling books

30 March. I feel like fasting. I feel like eating all the bread and cheese. I feel it all. I numb it.

31 March. Eating is one of the few entertainments I have left. We planted seeds in old yogurt containers yesterday. Mota, cilantro, carrot, lettuce, moringa, beans, other unknown surprises. I’m depressed, OK. I admit it. Listless, blah, blank. With oily hair, same clothes as yesterday, smelly body, total lack of desire.

1 April. The cat(s) killed a bird last night. Its feathers are all over a corner of the bedroom. Its bloody corpse is lying there. This does not seem like the best omen for the new month ahead. (Don’t judge.) It’s nature. The cat’s nature is to kill the bird/rat/lizard. The virus’s nature is to spread. Everything dies. Death is the biggest adventure of life. There are deadlines and I will meet them, Gotta keep working.

7 April. I am safe. I am strong. I am healthy. I am watching the ebb and flow of all the changes from my vantage point on the floral hillside. It still feels ominous, reading the news. The plague encroaching. Systems failing, crumbling. Nothing is under control. Chaos all around. But peace here inside shining through the bitter judgment and criticism. The sky remains, full of song.

10 April. I trust in the unfolding of each day, quiet and slow.

11 April. I’m not sure what the prompt actually is today but I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m writing anyway, and isn’t that the point?

Oh honey, we all want to go back to sleep. But we can’t. We’re awake. We’re awoke and so we must rise and shine our light out as a beacon to the others.

12 April. VENOM. What is poison? Sugar GMOs pesticide glyphosate colorants chemical preservatives plastic petrol pharmaceuticals trans-fat Fear Denial Hatred Delusion Greed

14 April. I have faith in the universe whose complex mysteries lie beyond beyond.

21 April. Anticipation of the coming rains. / Desire for the storm to come so that it can pass.

In a way, in retrospect, it seems I’ve been preparing for this experience my entire adult life. Moving ever further from cities and concrete. Closer to nature, in tune with Pachamama. Off the grid, out of the frame, away from the crumbling system from which I came.

THESE DAYS
At dawn, I meditate on the birdsong
Mostly from bed
I usually sleep later than I used to
I fall out of routine
I meditate on the birdsong and look up at the sky
I visualize the volcanoes behind the haze
I write in my journal
I meditate on the birdsong
I go out on the patio and walk slowly, feeling my feet caress the ground
Spontaneous walking meditation, contemplating flower blossoms
Slowing down what was already a slow flow of life
I clean the kitchen counter
I wash the dishes that pile up so fast
I sweep the floor
I meditate on the birdsong
I open my computer and work, editing other people’s words
Grateful that I now have more time to also write my own
I stand up and stretch my arms to the clouds
I stop to look for the pink clouds at sunset
I read a chapter of Harry Potter 3 to Jade
I meditate on the symphony of crickets
I breathe
I put myself to sleep with the mantra I adopted last fall:
I AM LOVE

white and black lighthouse near the cliff and white and red house
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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