Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 7

Last night I dreamt I was walking through a muddy bog with someone, I don’t know who. They were a few steps ahead of me. All of a sudden they disappeared, swallowed whole by the earth. I instinctively hopped round where they’d just been standing, onto what I hoped was more solid ground. I didn’t sink.

That’s all I remember.

I don’t know if I tried to save them. I don’t know if I tried.

I wake to a bright, clear, cloudless, blue sky. Surely the sky in London has never been that clear before? It’s more like a deep California blue. Not a plane in sight.

Over my morning cup of coffee I hear the distinctive squawk of a parrot. I look out the window and something bright green catches my eye. She’s high up in the large plane tree in my neighbours garden. I google what a squawk from a parrot means and get this:

“A sign of boredom and low-level anger. It generally shakes things up, as other birds become restless…it’s never a good idea to shout at the birds, as this will only put everyone on edge, and may simply inspire even more squawking.”

I wonder why she’s bored and angry. Is it the same reason I am? At least she’s free to fly high. At least it’s easy for her to stay 2 metres from other birds.

I’ve arranged an online introduction to mindfulness for today at noon. Its Mother’s Day and I’m hoping people are staying home and not visiting their mothers. Three women join the call, even though over 250 people expressed interest on Facebook. I imagine everyone is taking advantage of the good weather. I hope they are staying 2 metres apart.

After lunch we decide to go for a walk. This time we avoid the crowds by sticking to back roads and wide-open spaces. No tow paths, no canals. We end up back in the large expanse of football fields in Hackney marshes, which are virtually abandoned.

We lay in the grass and take in the clear blue sky. It’s deeply nourishing allowing my eyes to soften into space. I drop awareness into the sensations of stillness below me, where the body meets the earth. Then I take in the spaciousness above, stretching infinitely in all directions.

So much space in all directions, and yet we are held here.

I can feel the anger slowly yielding to a deep sadness. I’ve jumped right over the bargaining stage and straight into depression. It’s strangely comforting to feel so sad. Less agitated than the anger. And the sky can handle it. And the earth.

My partner knows me so well and tells me there is water just on the other side of a line of trees to our left. We make our way across the field, through the woods, and onto a path next to the River Lee. We dart across the path, successfully avoiding cyclists and runners, and scramble down onto the river bank.

My partner tells me its clean enough to swim in. I don’t believe them. But just imagining taking off all my clothes and submerging myself in the current is enough to put a smile on my face.

I don’t know the next time I’ll swim, but I can imagine it. I do the best I can to remember everything about how it feels.

The initial shock at the change in temperature as the body enters the water, the skin tingling, the breath shortening. The balancing act between buoyancy and heaviness. The silky smoothness against the skin. The way it caresses every inch of me as I move through it.

The way the body slowly softens, stretches and becomes more supple each stroke I take. That wonderful sense of aliveness, mixed with relief, mixed with the best kind of tired when I finally climb out of the water and rest on my back on the river bank.

Back at home I’m eating crisps, drinking beer and talking to my regular Sunday night date, a good friend in California. She is hunkered down at a retreat centre with a few others. They are taking each other’s temperature every day and keeping a chart. She’s lamenting how hard it is to stay productive. I remind her that no one is expecting her to be productive.

Later, while watching the daily update from Boris the Clown, I notice the subtle way my mind is starting to do bargaining. I think to myself, what if this whole thing is just a drill? What if all the leaders of the world, and health professionals, got together and decided to enact a pandemic just to see how it might play out? What if he’s just about to tell us we failed the social distancing test?

I notice the thought and quickly dismiss it. No, this is real, and no one is in charge.

It’s ironic that Boris the Clown is speaking from a podium with a sign on it that reads “Protect the NHS.” There is so much irony right now. Harvey Weinstein has contracted CV in prison. A senator who voted against emergency CV funding has tested positive.

Before bed I call my dad. He’s doing the best Bernie Sanders impression I’ve ever seen. I can’t think of a time I’ve ever seen him impersonate anyone. We laugh about how Steven Colbert, without an audience, is now a terrible comedian. He tells me he’s done his first zoom call with his wood turning friends. He tells me he wants to watch The Three Stooges re-runs but his wife is into the doomsday stuff.

They finally strike a deal. Old westerns it is.