Day 13: alone and together

Usually we are alone and together without knowing that we are alone. Without knowing that we are together. Now we see that we are alone and together.

I stretch to hold it all. I hold my personal privilege and my pleasure in the quiet and the luxury of solitude. I hold the suffering of those who are afraid and anxious and confused; who have lost their jobs and are adrift, who have no health care, who cannot pay the rent and are mourning a grandparent, a friend. I hold the suffering of those in abusive relationships, locked in with their abusers. I hold the pain of those gasping for breath.

Some of our fellows are deceived by tyrants and billionaires. Some of our relatives have lost their compassion, have lost the foresight to care for the earth, are deluded by greed. This may change that.

I hold the hope that we have reached a turning point, that a critical mass of people will be forced to see that everyone must have healthcare because we share in health, that everyone must have enough money to live, because we share the quality of life on this planet. Not everything is for sale. No one's worth is tied to the money they accumulate.

I ordered a new book for Evan and Bella, but it arrived yesterday, so they haven’t seen it yet. Today’s blip is one of the illustrations by Nahid Kazemi, an Iranian woman living in Canada. (I love the prickly legs of her bird-person.) The poem is by a Canadian poet, JonArno Lawson (Enchanted Lion Books, 2019).

Over the Rooftops, Under the Moon
By JonArno Lawson, illustrated by Nahid Kazemi

You can be far away inside,
and far away outside.
With others, but still on your own
when suddenly 
you feel something
that gets you moving
and wondering
about life.
All of it.
Color arrives,
sometimes when
you least expect it.
But then snow falls
and something 
changes again.

Where are the others now?
The waves
whirl you around
to a leaf
that carries you ashore
to somewhere
very familiar.

Inside and outside
alone and together
over the rooftops
and under the moon.