March 22, 2020
The small blue bell hanging from the ponderosa tree outside my window is full of sounds of Capileira, a small mountain town in Granada, Spain where I was meant to go in June. Looking at it, I hear the sound of cattle wandering in the barranca below the town, the sounds you come to hear when you spend any amount of time in Capileira, especially in the summer, and also the sound of the water rushing in the acequias that border the road and the paths leading to the ghost town over that way. I am here in Santa Fe, dreaming of all the places that I have been faraway and close, and all the people I care for, faraway and close and the sudden entrance of this virus - well, you know what it's doing, how it's spiraling, how it's changing everything... Here in Santa Fe, this Sunday as I prepare this blog, I feel in time and out of time. Yesterday, I did groceries for my parents and picked up some diabetes related supplies that my Dad needed. My parents drove in their car to the parking lot of the CVS and whoosh, my Dad opened the trunk by hitting a button from the driver's seat; whoosh, it opened slowly, and one by one I put the bags in. They rolled the car windows down and I stood 6 feet away and waved at them, my father named for life, my mother named for the first light of dawn. We said hello and waved. My mother reminded me she had cooked something; it was in the back, had I picked it up? yes, I had. We said so long and waved. In the grocery stores in Santa Fe, there are people wearing masks and gloves. From my window, I see the Sangre de Cristo mountains, dusted with snow that fell suddenly yesterday. What got me thinking about this blog is a letter that my friend Sonia wrote from Spain that I added to a note that I sent to participants in a writing adventure I was meant to lead in the summer in June. Reading her words, and the photos she sent me about Capileira, the idea grew to collect, curate compile views from different windows onto this same coronavirus crisis. I think it's fair to say "crisis." And so I'm beginning..... My hope is to share small accounts of small moments over the course of the next few weeks (months?), updating this blog once or twice a week sharing accounts of friends and strangers who are living this surreal time of lockdowns, and self-isolations, community and disconnection, life, death, boredom, fear, uncertainty, and - dare I say - hope. In the process of writing about one moment or two, I imagine there is an invitation to live fully in the present; to create an island of creativity in a difficult time - And also, collectively I hope these moments may become an emotional narrative of this season that we are experiencing. That's all for now. Maybe later, there will be more words. abrazos from the desert Shebana
0 Comments
Faraway is Close presents:
Poems from Here, There idhar udhar aquí allí the hope is share poems from me, with friends, here and there, in different languages, from porches balconies in this surreal pandemic time. Share your own journey - join our free (virtual) community creativity circles, every Tuesday at 10 am Mountain Standard Time. Register here 
SELECTIONS FROM OUR (VIRTUAL) CREATIVITY COMMUNITY CIRCLE,
EVERY TUESDAY AT 10 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME. THE NEXT ONE IS MAY 5. READ MORE. JOIN THE CIRCLE...
I believe a Dreamer Dreamed. From that Dream poured stars and galaxies,
worlds of infinite possibility and the potential for life. Life simple and small or grand and complex. That which seeks only its next meal, and that which dreams its own Dreams. ~ J-D Engle 
Creed
On a morning, sharp with winter, fresh with cold, I rise and walk on mesa paths, red with longing-mine, red with loving-mine. In slivers of air, here and there, smells of sage come and go. But their memory always lingers. Bluejays dart through juniper without even a hello. But ravens stop and chat. From the tops of topmost branches, they say: one day, you’ll understand our conversation. And it maddens me. By which I mean, it gladdens me beyond belief. Or rather, into it. For I do believe. I believe in the trinity of piñon, sage and juniper. I believe in the holy ghosts that live in yellow plains, drained of green but not of life. I believe in lavas that bind mesas so they do not yield, not easily, not yet. I believe in rocks that I know by name but that don’t know me, not now, not yet. (One day, they will.) I believe in birdsong that persists through winter and heartsong that keeps the land beating through droughts, rains, snows, love, loss, betrayal. I believe in immenseness, space and a spirit I have found again, by another name, in another guise. I believe. Finally, I believe. ~ Shebana Coelho (Creed first appeared on the On Being Blog) 
Silent wind-chimes suspended from red-painted ironwork...
|
|
J-D Engle: Born in late-mid twentieth century Oklahoma
and grew up across America as an Air Force brat. Been a retail manager, middle school teacher and, for the last decade and a half, Facilities Manager, Volunteer Coordinator, Newsletter Editor/Writer, Events Manager, costumed interpreter and general dogsbody at a no longer existent National Park historic farm unit. |
Sunday, March 30 3:18 pm Santa Fe, New Mexico
From my balcony, I gaze upon the memory of the Florentine Duomo.
She luxuriates under a full moon that illuminates her facade.
She has seen the Black Plague, extreme fires and floods, the renaissance, World War I, World War II and she knows...
She knows mankind’s darkest faults and grandest moments. She knows heinous and unspeakable acts.
She knows also acts of extreme sacrifice, divine acts of compassion and kindness and has witnessed
creativity in its utmost form. She comprehends our vulnerabilities, our strengths and abilities.
As she glows under the moonlight, she reminds us all, that our human spirit is resilient, it is divine, and that she and we, as a
collective consciousness, will remain, endure, perhaps in a new form.
We will, as a phoenix, from the ashes, arise with more love, more compassion and finally unite as one.
- Cathy Magni
From my balcony, I gaze upon the memory of the Florentine Duomo.
She luxuriates under a full moon that illuminates her facade.
She has seen the Black Plague, extreme fires and floods, the renaissance, World War I, World War II and she knows...
She knows mankind’s darkest faults and grandest moments. She knows heinous and unspeakable acts.
She knows also acts of extreme sacrifice, divine acts of compassion and kindness and has witnessed
creativity in its utmost form. She comprehends our vulnerabilities, our strengths and abilities.
As she glows under the moonlight, she reminds us all, that our human spirit is resilient, it is divine, and that she and we, as a
collective consciousness, will remain, endure, perhaps in a new form.
We will, as a phoenix, from the ashes, arise with more love, more compassion and finally unite as one.
- Cathy Magni
|
Cathy Magni is a retired Principal for the Department of Defense Dependent Schools. She resided overseas for 26 years in Italy, England, South Korea and Turkey. She currently makes beautiful Santa Fe her home.
|
|
Tuesday, March 31 6:35pm Prague, Czech Republic
|
On the buildings across the street, what’s below is in shadow, while the up above is light with late day sun.
Slowly, as the sun lowers, the shadow rises. I’m trying to figure out direction. The moon showed me the other night. It’s light now even though it is late because unbeknownst to me, Europe changed time the other night. Each morning, I see a man through my window and then his window doing his exercises. The movements of his arms catch my eye. In another apartment at another time of day, I see a woman practice yoga. She has on all the right clothes. Now, for the first time, I see that some of my unknown neighbors have placed flowers in their windows. Three. One to each vertical pane. Without my glasses and from this distance, they look like grape hyacinth. Yes, while all the stores are closed, flower shops are open. Isn’t that a wonder? And when there are flowers, people can bring blooms home with them. – Linney Wix |
|
Linney Wix usually lives in New Mexico and
is living in Prague for the pandemic. She has a front window, with the view shown, and a back window from her bedroom, both for seeing through. |
Monday, March 30 4:31pm Santa Fe
Right now, I see huge clouds looking down on a sea of junipers.
I see winds of change sweeping away old ways of being in this world.
I see bird droppings on the deck. Each morning, on the bird bath having their morning waters,
my close allies bring messages of hope.
Robins, bluebirds and often a flicker, flicker of my desire tapping on the ice
to make a hole to reach the water underneath.
He is persistent - tap tap tapping, drumming, knocking until he reaches his desire
in this high desert we call home.
In the distance, I see mountains to the south where I long to drive and reach the other side of this "Sheltering In Place"
Soon, I tell myself, soon. In the meantime, each day I crave yoga , and I drum up the discipline
to do it more and more on my own, though it often takes, primero, a cup of cafecito.
I see my Haitian Mermaid Metal sculpture outside my window. She hung all winter by the fireplace.
But last week, she wanted to be moved to the Winds of Change outside.
She is inside of me, a creature of living waters.
|
Lowry Sands is a
longtime Bodyworker, Empath, Nature and Tarot lover, Dream coach, world traveler nomad and a Yogini. She currently lives in a yurt in Santa Fe, NM |
Tuesday, March 31 2:07pm Forest Heights, MD
My Daffodils are fading from their glorious bright yellow full bloom.
My green leafed Iris are springing upwards toward the missing sun on an overcast day.
My red tinged sprouting Peonies are showing their gratitude for being adopted and transplanted by me.
In their previous location, in another yard, far away, they felt unwanted because they were mowed regularly,
not allowed to show their full glory.
I look forward to the arrival of all the bright colors of spring, hoping and praying that I live so long.
I see the eastern slope of my backyard and halfway up the slope, a dark hole perhaps a rabbit hole or a fox’s den.
Thinking of a rabbit, I think of the Mad Hatter, of Alice in Wonderland fame.
“Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!
I’m late, I’m, late, I’m late for a very important date.”
|
Roger Smith is a second generation native born Oklahoman.
He worked for over 52 years for the US Department of Transportation, Federal Aviation Administration, and is now retired. |
PHOTO by Marc Bailey, published in the Los Alamos Daily Post, April 8, 2020
Monday April 6 8:30pm Santa Fe, New Mexico
There you are, clear against the night sky rising from Picacho peak,
as if the mountains were just a door mat waiting for you.
Nothing else matters in the world but your translucent brilliance.
Your beaming smile laughing at us tiny humans down here. As if all our drama really mattered.
Is my face a moon?
Is my chest filled with your glow?
Gliding endlessly through our space, tied to our turnings, sucking, pulling our waters.
The rhythm that makes our hearts beat. Our breaths rise and fall.
Now, you show yourself as a thin lucent sliver with Venus hanging there, like the most brilliant diamond.
Seducing me to step inside that radiant portal that leads to a hundred thousand sighs and a billion tears.
Watching with no waiting. Watching in the boundless neutrality of our universe.
I know in your long view you care somewhere in your changeable soul.
But, for now, darkness is here.
We can walk the earth, unobserved.
|
Helen Chantler is a
jewelry designer who lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico. www.Reflectivejewelry.com |
|
April 2. Sevilla, Spain. Today the dawn brought rain; it has suddenly become winter again. To see the neighborhood patio with the door open, inviting you to go out ...it's something that calls to you more than ever, within the confinement of this State of Emergency that we are living. This rain makes me feel that heaven is crying, that Mother Earth is sharing with us how she feels, how sad she is. So many deaths, so many sick people in hospitals, among so much uncertainty…. any ray of sun that enters from the windows is like an embrace of love and possibility. Even my cat "Piki" is enjoying it on the balcony. I wish that this all passes soon, and that one day, we can tell our grandchildren that it was a "zamarreo" - something that shook us up - a wake-up call from our Planet - and from that point forward, all the residents of the earth, we changed our way of thinking and habits so that they, our grandchildren could have a better future. So it will be and so I see. Namaste. |
|
Coral de Los Reyes is a flamenco singer,
born in Jerez de la Frontera into a traditional flamenco family known for artists such as Anzonini del Puerto, Juanele and Rubichis. Her website: coralreyes.wordpress.com/ CORAL DE LOS REYES Cantaora Flamenco. Jerez de la Frontera Coral, gitana nacida en Jerez de la Frontera en el seno de una familia flamenca por tradición, conocidos por gitanos rubios, como Anzonini del puerto, Juanele y Rubichis. https://coralreyes.wordpress.com/ |
2 de Abril de 2020. Sevilla.
Hoy amaneció el dia lluvioso, se ha vuelto de pronto el invierno… ver ese patio vecinal, con la puerta abierta, invitandote a salir… es algo más que atrayente, dentro de este encierro de confinamiento en el Estado de Alerta que estamos viviendo..
Esta lluvia me hace sentir que el cielo llora, la Madre Tierra, nos esta enseñando como se siente, esta triste.. Tantas muertes, tanta personas enfermas en los hospitales, entre tanta incertidumbre…. cualquier rayito de sol, que entre tras las ventanas es como un abrazo de amor y positividad.. Hasta mi gato "Piki" lo esta disfrutando en el balcón
.
Deseo que esto pase pronto, y que podamos contarles a nuestros nietos algun dia, que fué un "zamarreo" de llamada de atención de nuestro Planeta..y que a partir de ahí, todos los habitantes, cambiamos de forma de pensar y de hábitos para que ellos tuvieran un futuro mejor. Así será y asi lo decreto. Namaste
Second week of confinement ... The days go by quickly. Little by little, we are adapting and getting used to this situation, surreal and unknown, that we are going through.
Surreal because, as if we were living in a dystopia, we find the country paralyzed, the empty streets, the closed shops and stores. We are cut off from the real world but, paradoxically, we are virtually hyper-connected.
This will be the first chapter of the new world that awaits us, post pandemic ... who knows.
Suddenly, our home is our particular universe, and telephones and computers, our most precious tools.
We have returned once again to reading books, to speaking with the neighbors, to contemplating life from our terraces, balconies and windows. Tidying up the house and cleaning, conscientiously, in those forgotten corners ...
Unknown because our current society had not experienced such a strange, extreme and perplexing global situation.
It is our particular war, saving the distances - social distancing.
It is not about armies or invasions, about pistols or cannons, but about masks, gloves, respirators and a whole army of health workers ... they are the true heroes and also the one who are infected with coronavirus who are fighting to keep their journey alive.
Usually, I like to go for a walk in the mountains and be in contact with nature ...
Now, from my terrace, I can only see the tall buildings that surround me on the left and in front, and on the right, the patios of the other houses below with their gardens.
They say that the human being is adaptive and that we get used to what we are living in each moment. So now, these are my particular mountains and forests, my little spaces where I can, every day of confinement, let my imagination and wishes fly ...
|
Pedro Serveto Coach de Vida Palma de Mallorca, España. |
Segunda semana de confinamiento...Los días pasan rápido. Poco a poco, nos vamos adaptando y acostumbrando a esta situación, entre surrealista y desconocida, que estamos transitando.
Surrealista porque, como si de una distopía se tratase, nos encontramos con el país paralizado, las calles vacías, las tiendas y comercios cerrados. Estamos incomunicados del mundo real pero, paradójicamente, estamos hiperconectados virtualmente. Será este el primer capítulo del nuevo mundo que nos espera, post pandemia...quién sabe. De repente, nuestro hogar es nuestro particular universo, y los teléfonos y ordenadores, nuestras herramientas más preciadas. Hemos vuelto a leer libros, a hablar con los vecinos, a contemplar la vida desde nuestras terrazas, balcones y ventanas. A ordenar la casa y a hacer limpieza, a conciencia, en aquellos rincones olvidados...
Desconocida porque nuestra sociedad actual no había vivido una situación global tan extraña, extrema y desconcertante. Es nuestra particular guerra, salvando las distancias. No se trata de ejércitos o invasiones, de pistolas o cañones, sino de mascarillas, guantes, respiradores y todo un ejército de sanitarios...ellos son los verdaderos héroes y también las personas contagiadas que luchan por salir adelante...
A mí me gusta salir a caminar por la montaña y estar en contacto con la naturaleza...Desde mi terraza solo puedo ver los edificios altos que me envuelven a la izquierda y en frente, y a la derecha los patios de las casas bajas con sus jardines...Dicen que el ser humano es adaptativo y que nos acostumbramos a lo que tenemos en cada momento. Así que ahora estas son mis particulares montañas y bosques, mis pequeños espacios donde puedo, cada día de confinamiento, dejar volar mi imaginación e ilusiones...
Surrealista porque, como si de una distopía se tratase, nos encontramos con el país paralizado, las calles vacías, las tiendas y comercios cerrados. Estamos incomunicados del mundo real pero, paradójicamente, estamos hiperconectados virtualmente. Será este el primer capítulo del nuevo mundo que nos espera, post pandemia...quién sabe. De repente, nuestro hogar es nuestro particular universo, y los teléfonos y ordenadores, nuestras herramientas más preciadas. Hemos vuelto a leer libros, a hablar con los vecinos, a contemplar la vida desde nuestras terrazas, balcones y ventanas. A ordenar la casa y a hacer limpieza, a conciencia, en aquellos rincones olvidados...
Desconocida porque nuestra sociedad actual no había vivido una situación global tan extraña, extrema y desconcertante. Es nuestra particular guerra, salvando las distancias. No se trata de ejércitos o invasiones, de pistolas o cañones, sino de mascarillas, guantes, respiradores y todo un ejército de sanitarios...ellos son los verdaderos héroes y también las personas contagiadas que luchan por salir adelante...
A mí me gusta salir a caminar por la montaña y estar en contacto con la naturaleza...Desde mi terraza solo puedo ver los edificios altos que me envuelven a la izquierda y en frente, y a la derecha los patios de las casas bajas con sus jardines...Dicen que el ser humano es adaptativo y que nos acostumbramos a lo que tenemos en cada momento. Así que ahora estas son mis particulares montañas y bosques, mis pequeños espacios donde puedo, cada día de confinamiento, dejar volar mi imaginación e ilusiones...
As I look out my window, to the west, I see a tall willow oak, reaching for the sky, with its very horizontal branches, devoid of leaves, speckled with glistening droplets of water, left over from a light rain.
I see a street devoid of people walking by, and automobiles driving by, and children playing, during this national State of Emergency.
I see the curbside and driveways filled with automobiles waiting to transport people to work, or to a doctor’s appointment, or to a store for supplies, or to socialize.
I see a tall vertical utility pole with its outreached street lamp that really needs maintenance because it blinks on, and off, and on, and off, all night long.
I see the horizontal cables of telephone wires, and electric cables, and cables for Internet/TV connectivity.
Looking out on my street, I remember it being lined with police cars a number of years ago when the teenage son set fire to his home, with his mother still inside.
As I gaze upon the rebuilt home, I remember the neighbors around me when I moved into my neighborhood some three decades ago.
The first neighbor and then the second neighbor to the right have passed, as well as the couple across the street, and the one diagonally across the street, and the other to left, all of whom I knew by name.
I feel blessed at having been allowed to live so long.
And now the combination of pollen season and Coronavirus has arrived, perhaps to facilitate my passing.
I can only hope and pray that I will be allowed to stay healthy to do more good stuff, to the benefit of my family, my friends, and mankind in general.
Having looked out my window, I then step outside on my covered porch to listen to the sounds, in the chill of the early evening, following a dreary overcast day.
The chirping birds have gone silent, having bedded down in their nests for the night.
I hear the distant subdued roar of traffic on the Interstate highway.
I hear the distant roar of the commercial airplanes landing and taking off.
The quiet and darkness of the night has descended upon my neighborhood.
I hope and pray that tomorrow will come and be a better day than today.
The thoughts of one very old person named Roger Smith.
|
Roger Smith is a second generation native born Oklahoman.
He graduated from Kansas State University with a bachelor’s degree in Electronics Engineering. He worked for just over 52 years for the US Department of Transportation, Federal Aviation Administration, and is now retired, living in the Washington, DC area. Presently, very late in life, he is working on a family memoir, trying to write stories about himself and ancestors. |
|
March 23, 2020, New Moon, New Mexico
A week ago, in my little town of Santa Fe, New Mexico, we were asked to close our massage practice. Strangely enough, it was not a shock - it was a relief. We did not have to worry anymore about the mixed messages of social distancing and giving massages. It also felt like we now had the permission to slow down, to dive into the interstices of our well programmed life. So, for me, instead of closing a window, it opened one. A window to the so-needed silence, a place to rest, heal, listen, a place of offering. I love the speed of this new world: big blank pages of not knowing, lots of time for day dreaming, time in nature without guilt and restlessness, time to create without agenda or need to produce, time to fully be in the now. The window I look at now is this inner one. |
|
I transformed our massage room into a sanctuary to honor mother earth, our ancestors, the ones that have passed, the sick ones,
the ones who will transition and to honor all humanity.
While sitting in silence and while the world was falling apart in a blink of an eye, I have been pondering on the concept of illness.
Perhaps because illness is an old friend of mine; perhaps because it is a good friend of my husband right now. I see it as the fruit of unbalance, a creative force into the humbling healing process journey.
Some of the colors of this journey are: the shock of having to stop “life as usual,” the loss of identity of who you once were, the physical and emotional pain, letting go expectations, projects, learning patience, understanding the whispering voices of our body's messages, slowly adapting to a new life path, and finally Transformation and Healing.
To me, Coronavirus spreading his wings of fear and death into the world is not any different: it feels like the embodiment of the humbling healing journey of humanity. And like any healing crisis, it will take patience and faith as this process cannot be shortened.
If we really want to benefit from the wisdom of its teaching, we cannot rush into a quick fix or we will be left by its ravages.
We have been waiting for this for a long time, the birth of a new world with less polarity, more love and compassion for all lives and
the ecosystem and with no disparity between human beings.
Like any birthing process. it is painful. We are in the midst of mother earth's contractions and we are not yet sure if we will survive.
When I look through my window, I see the gift of this potential.
I see the beauty of the world we live in.
I see the sparrow kissing the apricot buds which just opened.
the ones who will transition and to honor all humanity.
While sitting in silence and while the world was falling apart in a blink of an eye, I have been pondering on the concept of illness.
Perhaps because illness is an old friend of mine; perhaps because it is a good friend of my husband right now. I see it as the fruit of unbalance, a creative force into the humbling healing process journey.
Some of the colors of this journey are: the shock of having to stop “life as usual,” the loss of identity of who you once were, the physical and emotional pain, letting go expectations, projects, learning patience, understanding the whispering voices of our body's messages, slowly adapting to a new life path, and finally Transformation and Healing.
To me, Coronavirus spreading his wings of fear and death into the world is not any different: it feels like the embodiment of the humbling healing journey of humanity. And like any healing crisis, it will take patience and faith as this process cannot be shortened.
If we really want to benefit from the wisdom of its teaching, we cannot rush into a quick fix or we will be left by its ravages.
We have been waiting for this for a long time, the birth of a new world with less polarity, more love and compassion for all lives and
the ecosystem and with no disparity between human beings.
Like any birthing process. it is painful. We are in the midst of mother earth's contractions and we are not yet sure if we will survive.
When I look through my window, I see the gift of this potential.
I see the beauty of the world we live in.
I see the sparrow kissing the apricot buds which just opened.
|
Irina Blue is a massage therapist
and facilitator of "Ancestral Blessings." She co-owns her practice with her husband in Santa Fe. Grace Note Massage website Grace Note Massage Facebook page |
March 23, 2020
Fear echoes through the empty streets…
I live in Mumbai, India which has a population of approximately 22 million people. The very idea of social distancing seems bizarre here.
We have packed streets, trains, shops, theatres bars, restaurants, markets, schools and daycares… ALL of which are now shut (Medical and grocery stores, I hear, are open).
My husband & I recently moved in to live with my young mum (age 73) to a suburb called Bandra.
Bandra is known for its famous churches, restaurants, small villages, the ocean surrounding the suburb with the Bandstand and Carter Promenade to mark the edge.
This morning, at 8:30 am, my husband and I walked to Pali Market (a usually busy market where most of the residents of Bandra buy their groceries). The roads were empty; a few cars and bikers rode by us. Some even acknowledged us and nodded their heads.
As we walked, we heard birds chirping. It’s rare to hear them; usually, with the noise of the traffic, you don’t.
We picked the essentials and walked back to prepare our meal for the day.
It's 6:00 pm now as I sit by my window, looking out at the street. An old man on his cycle passes by and I think to myself - I have the privilege of working from home: what about the homeless, the daily wagers? The man who had to leave for work on his cycle today? What is going to happen to them?
I feel the blessing that I have this space to stay safe with my family.
I hope the earth will be healed soon.
Fear echoes through the empty streets…
I live in Mumbai, India which has a population of approximately 22 million people. The very idea of social distancing seems bizarre here.
We have packed streets, trains, shops, theatres bars, restaurants, markets, schools and daycares… ALL of which are now shut (Medical and grocery stores, I hear, are open).
My husband & I recently moved in to live with my young mum (age 73) to a suburb called Bandra.
Bandra is known for its famous churches, restaurants, small villages, the ocean surrounding the suburb with the Bandstand and Carter Promenade to mark the edge.
This morning, at 8:30 am, my husband and I walked to Pali Market (a usually busy market where most of the residents of Bandra buy their groceries). The roads were empty; a few cars and bikers rode by us. Some even acknowledged us and nodded their heads.
As we walked, we heard birds chirping. It’s rare to hear them; usually, with the noise of the traffic, you don’t.
We picked the essentials and walked back to prepare our meal for the day.
It's 6:00 pm now as I sit by my window, looking out at the street. An old man on his cycle passes by and I think to myself - I have the privilege of working from home: what about the homeless, the daily wagers? The man who had to leave for work on his cycle today? What is going to happen to them?
I feel the blessing that I have this space to stay safe with my family.
I hope the earth will be healed soon.
|
Nahida Coelho is a freelance career counselor
and part time co-producer. She is in the process of launching DiscoverU.in (website in progress) a platform for students and professionals who are looking at alternative and holistic careers. Facebook https://www.facebook.com/discoveru.in/ Instagram https://www.instagram.com/discoveru.in/ |
Lockdown is hearing about arias being sung from balconies but being blasted by AC/DC's “Highway to Hell” instead.
It's worrying about our elderly neighbors one minute then wondering when they're going to shut the hell up with their incessant hammering the next.
It's wishing we could go to lunch at our favorite Chinese restaurant.
It's frustration at making sacrifices while others treat it like a vacation, flooding beach and ski towns.
It's sharing a laugh with my husband when we can find something to laugh about. It's living in 500 square feet divided by two.
It's anxiety about the loss of income as a self‑employed person.
It's being happy I can still teach some of my university classes online.
It's grief at thinking about the people who have been taken away to hospitals where they may have spent their last days alone.
It's despair at seeing the long line of army trucks on the news lined up in Bergamo, ready to transport coffins to other, less crowded crematoriums.
It's anger that Italy's February 28 request to EU member states for masks went unanswered. It's gratitude when the first team of Chinese doctors arrived in Rome on
March 13 with 31 tons of medical supplies.
It's fear that we're expecting a surge of cases here in town.
It's knowing we wouldn't be able to reach our relatives in the U.S. and Poland in an emergency.
It's disappointment at not getting to see West Side Story on Easter Day in New York City.
It's trying to stick to a routine.
It's wanting to read but not being able to concentrate.
It's early morning quiet because that one neighbor isn't starting his noisy car at 5 a.m. to go to work. It's feeling lucky that our apartment is bright and airy.
It's disbelief followed by resignation when they announce schools will be closed for one week, then two, then six, then possibly until September.
It's fury at watching world “leaders” lying and trying to rewrite history.
It's disgust at people jumping on the bandwagon of borders and phone surveillance in the name of containing a virus.
It's being glad I got to the hair salon a week before businesses were forced to close.
It's still not going through boxes which have been sitting above a closet for five years.
It's walking to the grocery store three times in one day before giving up because the line outside is too long.
It's thinking how, if I shut my eyes while I listen to Don Henley's “Sunset Grill,” I can almost, but not quite, transport myself back to a 1990 Hollywood balcony.
It's knowing that one day this will be over, and hoping that we are left as unscathed as possible.
It's worrying about our elderly neighbors one minute then wondering when they're going to shut the hell up with their incessant hammering the next.
It's wishing we could go to lunch at our favorite Chinese restaurant.
It's frustration at making sacrifices while others treat it like a vacation, flooding beach and ski towns.
It's sharing a laugh with my husband when we can find something to laugh about. It's living in 500 square feet divided by two.
It's anxiety about the loss of income as a self‑employed person.
It's being happy I can still teach some of my university classes online.
It's grief at thinking about the people who have been taken away to hospitals where they may have spent their last days alone.
It's despair at seeing the long line of army trucks on the news lined up in Bergamo, ready to transport coffins to other, less crowded crematoriums.
It's anger that Italy's February 28 request to EU member states for masks went unanswered. It's gratitude when the first team of Chinese doctors arrived in Rome on
March 13 with 31 tons of medical supplies.
It's fear that we're expecting a surge of cases here in town.
It's knowing we wouldn't be able to reach our relatives in the U.S. and Poland in an emergency.
It's disappointment at not getting to see West Side Story on Easter Day in New York City.
It's trying to stick to a routine.
It's wanting to read but not being able to concentrate.
It's early morning quiet because that one neighbor isn't starting his noisy car at 5 a.m. to go to work. It's feeling lucky that our apartment is bright and airy.
It's disbelief followed by resignation when they announce schools will be closed for one week, then two, then six, then possibly until September.
It's fury at watching world “leaders” lying and trying to rewrite history.
It's disgust at people jumping on the bandwagon of borders and phone surveillance in the name of containing a virus.
It's being glad I got to the hair salon a week before businesses were forced to close.
It's still not going through boxes which have been sitting above a closet for five years.
It's walking to the grocery store three times in one day before giving up because the line outside is too long.
It's thinking how, if I shut my eyes while I listen to Don Henley's “Sunset Grill,” I can almost, but not quite, transport myself back to a 1990 Hollywood balcony.
It's knowing that one day this will be over, and hoping that we are left as unscathed as possible.
|
Michele Celeste Garcia
and her husband, Michał, live in Turin, Italy, which has been on lockdown since March 10, 2020. Twitter: @MicheleGTorino. |
SEARCH
FOLLOW ON FB
SUPPORT THE WORK
If you appreciate my work, if you find comfort, curiosity and connection in this project,
or if you just appreciate
the Faraway is Close workshops /cross cultural encounters and my performances, consider making a small monthly or one-time contribution
If you appreciate my work, if you find comfort, curiosity and connection in this project,
or if you just appreciate
the Faraway is Close workshops /cross cultural encounters and my performances, consider making a small monthly or one-time contribution
MAKE A ONE TIME DONATION
Archives
March 2021
May 2020
April 2020
March 2020
RSS Feed