Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 14

It’s a lucid dream I’ve had since childhood.  I’m stood firmly on the ground, looking up. I take a deep breath, focus hard, and start to fly.

Even though it’s a reoccurring dream, the location is always different. Last night I was here, in London.  

Here’s how it works. I tell myself it’s a dream so I can do whatever I want, including fly. I choose flying every time. At first I simply hover above the ground, but as my energy steadies and confidence builds, I go higher and higher. Sometimes it’s easier than others. Sometimes I fly so high I end up floating above the planet.

But this time, as much as I try, I can’t get more than a few feet off the ground.

I wake up frustrated. Then I remember my solitary retreat over the month of January. In the first week I had every reoccurring dream I’ve ever had one after the other, night after night…

My mother’s still alive but it’s confusing. I’m so glad to see her, but I’m angry at her for being gone for so long, and I can’t figure out how to fit her back into the fabric of our lives.

I’m looking out the back window of my father’s house, the one I grew up in, and water is rising quickly, getting closer and closer to the house.

My partner tells me they’re in love with someone else and I breakdown in uncontrollable tears.

I’m exploring a big, empty house and keep finding secret doorways and staircases.

I’m hanging out with a good friend from university, but she’s angry with me and I can’t figure out why.

They’re tearing down the woods next to my father’s house to build a massive highway.

After that, I stopped dreaming. Except for the night a tornado came and reduced the house to rubble. I survive by hiding in the cellar under an old rowboat.

The skies a repeat performance of yesterday, going from blue to gray. It starts to hail. The hail makes a pinging, metallic sound as it bounces off the window.

I read a news article about how Trump royally fucked up the US response to COVID-19, doing nothing over the 4-6 weeks when they should have been developing tests. They are so far behind and there is no leadership, no coordinated response. He hasn’t even given condolences to the families of those who have died. Or thanked the countries healthcare workers.

I breath deep into my belly to keep from screaming.

I know this feeling so intimately. I came into the world angry. I’ve spent the last 20 years learning how to open to anger, without fearing it or letting it take me over.

Now I take three deep breaths.

Nothing to suppress, nothing to indulge. Just raw energy, hot and sticky moving up and out. Wave after wave washing over me. My heart starts to beat faster and faster. That’s the hormones kicking in. The body gearing up for a fight.

I’m sat here bearing it for as long as it lasts until it finally subsides and I’m left with a deep well of sadness. Now I can be with this, I can drop into this. As painful as it is, I know it also means I am alive and I care.

Now I’m dropping into deeper and deeper layers of anger and sadness. I’m dropping into an awareness that once this thing hits Syria and India the suffering is going to get a whole lot worse. We’re still just at the start. And it’s not a good one.

I breath out a prayer. It’s the only thing I know how to do in moments like this when I’m teetering on the edge of losing it.

My partner also suggests a walk.

The weather seems to be mirroring my mood. The skies now a dark gray with a chill in the air, a bitter wind blowing. We cross a practically empty High Street before weaving our way through neighborhood back roads towards Clissold Park.

On the way we a pass a sign reminding us to stay 2 metres apart, more rainbows in windows, creative front garden displays, and a shuttered church. A sign in a grocery store window thanks NHS worker with a 10% discount.

At the entrance to the park we stop to take in a newly planted bed of brightly coloured pansies. I look closely for a good long while.

They’ve put red and white caution tape over all the benches so we won’t sit on them. A young couple is brazenly ignoring the tape and is sat on a bench anyway.

My partner and I get into an argument because they’re not paying attention and walking too close to other people. We end up wrestling on the grass before spotting an impressive looking oak tree and going in for a hug. It’s trunk’s so wide that even with both of our arms outstretched, wrapped tightly around it, we can’t reach each other’s fingertips.

We try to climb it too, but can’t get a foothold.

Back at home my partner makes me a banging Sunday roast. I forgive them for everything.

Before bed we watch Homeland, which reminds me of living in the time of coronavirus. It’s just going from bad to worse and it’s hard to imagine how Saul and Carrie are going to get out of this one free and alive.