On Covid

Hello Friends,

Well, Omicron decided to visit our household. Because of the good boundary of vaccines and boosters, O’s party-time has been relatively mild. Unlike the unvaccinated people currently filling hospitals, straining already overloaded systems (and exhausted workers), and dying in droves… We are around. And grateful for life. 

Two of us isolated completely, but the other two? That wasn’t possible, so we did our best. 

One of us—the one who brought Covid home from work—got pretty damn sick: coughing, joint pain, stabbing headaches, congestion, exhaustion, night sweats, earache... All the classic symptoms. 

My case felt more like a very mild flu. Different vax? The CBD I take daily? Luck of the draw? Who knows. 

Meanwhile, I have birth family who are staunch anti-Covid-vaxxers and anti-maskers. There are people in my overlapping communities who are anti-vax in general. People burned masks in Portland this week, while waving American flags.

When these variants hit—affecting so many—it is easy to retreat into anger at these people. And anger at bungled government response. And anger at those who grow more and more wealthy because of the terrible plight we’re all in. 

Anger is okay, and sometimes necessary. But in the midst of the flashes of anger, I also feel extreme gratitude.

As usual, I’m grateful that we have food in the house. And a house at all. Too many people are suffering on the streets, with more to come. 

As usual, I’m grateful for all the people engaged in mutual aid, trying to keep communities alive by sharing resources: From each according to their ability, to each according to their need. 

I want to never forget to feel grateful for all the good in this world. It keeps me going. Keeps me creating. Keeps me offering what help I can, when I can. 

This week, hearing my partner hacking from their bed, one line from Ginsberg’s poem Howl runs through my mind: “we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets, the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep…” Ginsberg spanned space and time to connect with me, once again, from 1955 to now.

Howl is a testament to creative power, and a critique of the machines of greed and excess. The poem reminds me that art has staying power. That humans create—reaching out to one another—in the most desperate of circumstances.

So here I am, with you, reaching out again in these desperate times. 

Grateful, and alive.

This morning as I made tea, I found myself singing something I wrote and recorded decades ago. I have not sung this song in years. It is a prayer for the dying, called Passage: “Water, engulf me. Fire, scorch my skin. Air, suck my breath. Earth, receive me in. Into the arms of Mystery, my spirit soars. Open the gates!”

Singing with you in love — Thorn

p.s. If you want a contemplative break, I’m offering Holy Well and Sacred Flame, Five Weeks with the Goddess Brigid. You can register now. Registration closes when the course opens on February 1st. Class is on line and self-paced.