BEFORE and AFTER NINE

Saturday the 12th of September with a promising cloud, lots of cool wind and relative silence. How many months since the pandemic appeared here? How long can we endure? Endless battles over our heads and under our feet, the planetary power wars, lies and truths float like sand across a desert of social distancing, mask wearing-or not wearing and and and and. What? I'm in the last stages of my time here, perfectly provided with all one might ever need but the simple human interconnect and unable to just walk out, make plans, have goals. This morning I burned a pot (again). A dog barks nearby.

"Ever since I found out that earth worms have taste buds all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies, I pause dropping apple peels into the compost bin, imagine the dark, writhing ecstasy, the sweetness of apples permeating their pores. I offer beets and parsley, avocado, and melon, the feathery tops of carrots. I’d always thought theirs a menial life, eyeless and hidden, almost vulgar—though now, it seems, they bear a pleasure so sublime, so decadent, I want to contribute however I can, forgetting, a moment, my place on the menu." -- "Feeding the Worms" from Bonfire Opera by Danusha Laméris, © 2020

As the day moved forward I gave up. I mean, I slept again and again till dark. I've eaten some leftovers, listened to the younger tenants run downstairs on marble steps to get out for their evenings and read through face book posts feeling disconnected to connecting. Yet here I am typing on the blog as if I were actually connecting to beings out there somewhere. Aren't we all really just talking to ourselves.

Last night there was a Zendo session via Zoom--"The Wisdom Sangha" is a twice monthly meeting with over sixties. I spent the session listening to others. There was a potent sitting meditation where I listened to my body. It had a lot to tell me. Perhaps I've grown accustomed to this form of connecting. I'm seeing via a small cell phone programmed to receive the Zendo sessions and given to me by a generous Zendo brother months ago. The pictures are very small, but I wear glasses and keep a magnifying glass close. I am relieved by the meditation and comforted by the virtual presences.

Now my tiny TV is on Channel 13 and a blast from the past is playing - The title of "Five Easy Pieces" refers not to the women its hero makes along the road, for there are only three, but to a book of piano exercises he owned as a child. ... When we sense the boy, tormented and insecure, trapped inside the adult man, "Five Easy Pieces" becomes a masterpiece of heartbreaking intensity.

Then--The Ghost Writer--When a successful ghostwriter, the Ghost (Ewan McGregor), agrees to finish the memoirs of Adam Long (Pierce Brosnan), England's former prime minister, his publisher assures him it's the chance of a lifetime. Instead, he begins to uncover evidence that suggests his late predecessor knew a dark secret about Lang and may have been murdered to prevent it from coming to light.

I'm done