I went out today for groceries. Already I’ve noticed more cars on the road. Construction projects clog the streets. There is a small pile up just a few blocks from my apartment.
It seems that the health authorities have implemented effective measures, and British Columbia has flattened the curve. There continues to be isolated outbreaks in care homes, correctional facilities, and processing plants (why not say slaughter houses?), but there are fewer new cases each day. The daily briefings are not strained by the bated tension of March, when the outbreak rivetted collective attention. Although the authorities are cautious about the current situation, the public is all too ready to loosen the reins. The swell in traffic indicates a drift away from the stay-at-home orders.
With the sight of cars lined up at the intersection, I felt a slight disappointment. I was witnessing a return to the inevitable, but I also mourn for those quiet days when the cherries bloomed by the settled streets. In the absence of mechanical motion, I breathed a world of cool, fragrant air and took in the birds’ songs. Life settled into life, silence into silence. Indeed there was peril, but also a quiet attention, the clarified vision fixed on an extraordinary moment when the world stood still and remembered the bliss of sanity.
There are many clamouring to open up the economy, to return to “normal”. People are hurting, and workers are losing their jobs. And so we must all get back to work. Yet, can we also pause to look around at this crisp Spring day, the clouds sweeping over the sky, the air that refreshes the lungs and realize that we are losing something as well? In the rush to return to work, is there not also some space in our complex mental lives to recognize this brief visitation, a moment of turmoil accompanied by a resplendent reprieve? And if we are wise, might we actualize the lessons of silence as we return to our labours, to work toward a softer, kinder way of living in the aftermath of calamity?
Nested within tragedy there is both lamentation and inspiration. Something is mourned, something is savoured. Witness the kindness of strangers in the grocery stores, watch the laughter of children as they run free on the outstretched lawn. The banalities of quotidian life are thrown into relief when we are struck with the stupendous, which reveal the trivial matters that occupy the hour. Now that the hour is almost past, will we return to triviality?
All is impermanent. This too shall pass. The pandemic might subside; there might be a second wave. There might be economic hardship, political radicalization, the encroachment of state power, or the development of greater social safety nets. But the impermanence of this episode shall give way to its sequel — how long will this human venture last? It too, shall pass away. But not everything is lost – something different shall greet us at the other end of the foggy pass. Will we let ourselves drift into forgetfulness, beholden to circumstance and powerless to take the reins of each moment, or shall we emerge with clear eyes, our vision sharp with resolution?