Here on Earth

There's a thimble in my coat pocket. I fiddle with it as I try to convince my mom to go to the dentist. She won't budge, but she will give me sewing supplies. She has all the makings for a poodle skirt - a nod to the fifties and sixties decades that she grew up in. The models on the cover of the pattern envelope have on saddle shoes with bobby socks with the curly frills on the ankles. I can see that she is going to win this round. It occurs to me later that mental illness might be a form of advanced intelligence. Its almost alien in the way it can operate around the mundane details of modern life. 

I will pack up the Prius and drive myself back to Indiana. I will go back to the male dominated world of architecture and engineering. I will go back to the projects that I love. I will look for gratitude in moments that are overwhelming or lonely. I will find strength in the obstacles that I have overcome. I will contemplate the rotation of the earth and the revolutions around the sun. I will think about how even Vladimir Putin is beholden to a horizon and how war and darkness will be penetrated by light and understanding. I will ponder if the pandemic has made us better as a nation. A friend says that everyone looks older. I look around me and think she is right. The lines on people's faces are deeper and more sincere. Is there a cure for colossal grief?

I will think about my own journey of healing. How it has taken years to recover a sense of myself during raising a child on my own. Finally having the space to breathe and think thoughts as big as the universe. Its what I dreamed of in my adolescents. A corner of the world that was all my own to dream and ponder. One foot in front of the other is the only cure to grief I have found.

I read an interview with Zelinsky, the Ukraninan prime minister who is facing down the darkest evils, but he used to be a comedian. I'm struck with how he embraces this role with a Shakespearean resolve. He notes that the jester was often the speaker of truth and bringer of light. I marvel at his perspective, but my skin crawls at the modern world being compared to Shakespeare's violent and malevolent masterpieces. 

Yet it is spring, marvelous spring. Kids hunt easter eggs and the crocus and daffodil have their day. The birds seem to burst with morning gossip before the sun comes up. The dog whines anxiously at the door to frolic and chase squirrels in the backyard. There is the promise of renewal and rebirth. Its that short window when the world as ancient as it is feels new again. Finally we celebrate Earth Day with our homemade granola and kombucha in the sunlight as it filters through the trees. I offer an agnostic prayer for an evolved attitude towards our shared home - may we care for ourselves and the corners we inhabit with gentle care and loving kindness.