Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 44

 I wake up to the sound of rain, soft and comforting. I listen to it while drinking my coffee.

And while meditating I notice it isn’t just one sound, but the convergence of many dulcet murmurings. Pitter-pattering on leaves, windows, ground and paving, soft squishing and hissing as cars go by, a slow steady trickle, collecting and then surrendering to gravity in a gutter or drain somewhere.

Water, flow, movement, emotion, energy, life.

It’s coming down from the sky. When was the last time I actually considered how wondrous that is? Thousands of millions of drops of this stuff that gives us life, that is the soup of life, that all of life depends upon are falling from the sky and I am here listening to it.

The next thing I know I’m lost in a labyrinth of memories, cathartic and energizing.

As a child I used to love puddle hopping in the rain. And as a youth worker I used to love taking whole groups of children out puddle hopping too. There was something about giving them the confidence to get messy together, play around with the elements, and let loose a bit. Or a lot.

It’s an art form, really.

First, you’ve got to make sure you have the right gear, unless you don’t mind getting soaked. If you opt for a raincoat, make sure it’s a good one, not any old raincoat will do.

It’s got to have a proper hood and zipper. It’s got to fit tight enough so water doesn’t come splashing up from below, but not so tight that you lose essential mobility in the arms, shoulders and hips.

Rain pants, or waterproofs as the British call them, are even more optional. If it’s a warm summer day, I wouldn’t recommend them, as they can get rather sweaty.

But the most important thing is the appropriate footwear. Rubber wellies, of course, and preferably knee high, no socks. A fashionable design also doesn’t hurt. Good soles, with traction, and a warm, comfy interior are nonnegotiables.

An umbrella is completely unnecessary.  

Then there is the actual hopping. This must be done with a sense of purpose and total focus. You approach the puddle slowly, looking closely to ascertain depth and how much leverage you can get out of one giant jump and plop, versus more gentle splashing round.

For small, deep puddles, I always go for the jump and plop. The goal here is to see how far you can get the water to splash, preferably in the direction of fellow puddle hoppers.

For wide, shallow puddles the objective is more a gentle splashing round. Except if there is enough water to successfully kick it into the air, in which case again, the goal is to get someone else as wet as possible.

Highly favourable, but rarer still, are the wide, deep puddles. Here, a combination of a jump and plop followed by a great deal of kicking around is ideal. If its deep enough, involving the hands in splashing water around is also highly recommended.

I tend to ignore small and shallow, unless you’re just looking for somewhere to check your complexion.

Coming back to the sounds of the rain, I begin to feel into the earth beneath me. I can sense relief after those seemingly endless days of sunshine, imagining the earth gratefully soaking up the rain, drinking it all in. The rain is saturating the whole earth below and all around me and I can feel it.

I imagine the rain is falling on me as it makes its way to the earth. I can almost feel the rain drops on my freshly shaved head. Hear them falling there.

I imagine the rain is running down my body as it makes its way towards and into the earth. I imagine I’m giving the rain all my sadness and grief, fear and uncertainty. I imagine the rain taking it all and carrying it into the earth.

After meditation I spend the rest of the morning writing until the doorbell rings. It’s the postman with a couple of small packages. He isn’t wearing a raincoat and his bald head is dripping wet with the rain.

I ask him how he’s doing and he says he’s ok, actually enjoying the rain. I tell him to take good care of himself.

One package is for me, the other for my partner. I know what it is before opening it. A friend had sent me a package from Manchester weeks ago and was disappointed to hear it hadn’t arrived. I always held out hope it would eventually come and now it finally has.

It’s a gift. I’ve been supporting her for years in her practice and this year she was finally invited to be ordained. But the ordination was canceled because of coronavirus. Regardless she’s gone and got me a thank you gift.

It’s a silver necklace with the word Sati engraved on it. Sati means mindfulness. I take a picture and send it to my friend before putting it on.

Now it’s time to catch up with a friend on Google Meet. I haven’t used it before and it works pretty well, although the image isn’t as clear as Zoom.

We talk about the ethics of social distancing. What if your physical health and quality of life depends upon things like regular bodywork? What if you’ve got elderly parents? What if you share custody of a kid with someone?

It’s interesting to consider the implications of the risks we may be willing to take, in collusion with others. If I decide to meet up with someone because we both think we don’t have the virus how can we be sure we aren’t carrying it and may be passing it on inadvertently?

What if we pick it up on the way to the meeting? What if we carry it to our friend who then passes it on to their elderly parent?

What if, what if, what if…?

Meanwhile, Sweden has avoided lockdown and only has 2,300 deaths so far. What’s going on there?!

Apparently it has something to do with number of people per square kilometer, 25 in Sweden compared to 38,000 in NYC, one of the worst hit cities in the world. They were a country that was already social distancing before coronavirus.

After lunch I switch rooms with my partner, who’s been in the bedroom all morning. I do a bit more writing and then decide it’s time for a nap.

Tonight I’m teaching for an hour on Zoom with a half hour for dinner before getting on another Zoom meeting. Just the idea of all that Zooming’s exhausting.

Just before falling asleep the doorbell rings and I remember that my partner, who’s now on Zoom in the front room, is waiting for their new desk chair to arrive. That’s right, we’ve gone and bought another one. One each. I get up, answer the door, thank the delivery man, and drag the box into our flat.

I go back to sleep.

I wake up to the sound of my partner opening the box and unwrapping their chair. I doze for a little while longer before getting up. A friend has sent me a video of a sea scape that someone else has sent them. There is a setting sun and waves crashing on the beach.

After watching the video, I open the bedroom door to my partner, sat in their chair in the middle of the hallway, bouncing up and down. They look up at me and comment on how bouncy their new chair is. They’ve got a massive grin on their face.

I take a shower, teach the meditation class, eat dinner, and do my evening meeting. Then it’s time for Killing Eve.

The third episode is better than the second. Villanelle has come to London and tracked down Eve. They get into a wrestling match on a moving bus and it ends with a kiss, their first.

Villanelle has also decided she wants to track down her birth family. She’s curious about her early life. Given her psychopathic nature, it couldn’t have been good.

I am reminded of my own curiosity a few years ago about my life as a baby. I decided that it was probably hard. I was born with a hemangioma above my right eye which made me look monster-like. There aren’t a lot of pictures of me as a baby.

And I know from stuff my Dad’s told me that they were worried it wouldn’t go away and took me to lots of different doctors to find out what could be done.

I also almost died of meningitis when I was two. I was in the hospital in Santiago, Chile where we’d gone to visit family. Apparently, late one night the doctor told my mom that by morning I’d either be dead or on the mend.

I’m grateful that by morning I was on the mend.

That was my first brush with death. Since then I’ve had a few others, the latest being diagnosed with cancer last year. The worst being a passenger on a small plane trying to land during a massive thunderstorm.

Reflections on death are a dime a dozen these days but the rain’s stopped and all’s gone quiet so I decide that’s enough for today.