Oh, good gravy!
Taking a moment to set down the hopelessness I’m carrying.
As a nurse.
A parent.
An Earthling.
I have been losing touch with current events, because I carry them with me. I just throw them into my backpack and let them weigh me down through the joyful moments of my life. So I stick my head in the sand, hoping I don’t get my ass kicked.
I am surrounded by good, loving people who are doing their best to care for others… forgetting to care for themselves. Then carrying the guilt of selfishness after a joyful moment, forgetting the weight of the world for a second…
And then the weight comes crashing back down, getting back up to speed with the state of things. Everywhere. In a country too big to somehow ever just care about each other.
“All these gray hairs warm up my soul … and when my eyes can’t focus on the view, I have my memories to get me through”
This song, the music of Mihali and Twiddle, raise my soul up. If the last thing to go is hearing, I hope I’m listening to joyful music in my soul. Just ease my suffering. That’s all. When it comes to the end, I think what many of us are fearing is suffering. Possibly not that there’s an end (or isn’t); not so much that there’s a place to go after, or just cycling from compost to seeds to leaves to air and food and water, cycling back till… till?
A music break — to let me fall into a lighter space in my brain. To get back on track.
On what track? Heading where? Who’s driving? Do we have resources? Do our neighbors and family? Does our tribe? Do we have healthcare? Medicines? Shelter, food, clean water, sanitation, warmth, electricity? So basic, such simple needs we all could have met across the globe if we could just put down our fear.
Instead of putting it down, we let it surround us — like a contagion — spreading throughout the room until we’re all radiating anxiety. I got there today. Surrounded by the fears of a new practice, and the fear of unknown resource availability, the complexity of nursing in the home, and the… the what? The lack of human time to care for all these humans who can’t or won’t take care of themselves. In a country where the government prioritizes money-making practices for the few, over services for all. Promoting selfishness, greed, distraction. Silently dividing its people. Because war is profitable for some people.
And I have to dwell in that hopelessness for a bit sometimes. Because it feels legitimate. It helps me understand myself, and try to make sense of… all the nonsense. But, at some point, I have to come back from it. Wow is it hard to find that light. When music stops sounding pleasurable. When it stops feeling like medicine…
I’m off balance.
… And noticing that wakes me up.
Music might not get me out of darkness every time, but it’s my indicator of when something’s off. My barometer. Restlessness through a playlist. Listening to hard songs and hearing sorrow, or forgetting that this is all an infinite blink, over too soon, and to have some fun. A song that brought me joy isn’t “working” like before.
Is an alarm clock ringing: Time to get to work.
And figure out how you and your tribe will move forward.
Together.
Syncopated Healing - Twiddle (heal your life) is the outro here, for those needing a soundtrack for this ride! After rereading, I landed on Scarlet Begonias - Grateful Dead.
I could worry myself to death, but instead I’ll numb with some TV tonight. G’night!
-Jess