Things Fall Apart

In which the center does not hold.

Float like a jellyfish, sting like a jellyfish

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

— W.B. Yeats

Hello again, from the apocalypse. It has been a minute, hasn’t it? First (and still) because of a book project that takes up most of whatever free time I have for writing, and second because *gestures broadly at everything.*

Due to the nature of my current job (well, current as of this moment, but who knows what tomorrow will bring?), I cannot comment much on the mere anarchy [being] loosed upon the world, but I would be more than happy to give anyone who wants to contact me privately a tour of the unmitigated nightmare that my colleagues and neighbors and friends and I are enduring. You really haven’t lived until you have experienced - even secondhand - a regional trauma like the one we’re suffering here in the DC area, so don’t be shy. Mi infierno es su infierno, as they say.

Mainly I wanted to write something to remind all the good people who receive Whimsy and Pique that threads of every thickness and hue are binding so many millions of us together in this moment, kindness to kindness, empathy to empathy, humanity to humanity, and hope to hope. I want to climb to the roof of the highest building (which is actually not all that high in DC because of building codes or whatnot) and shout, “YOU ARE NOT ALONE!” Because it is true. I am here with you, in solidarity, and I’d venture to guess that if you stop for even a moment to count the others who are with you too, you’ll soon run out of fingers and toes and have to borrow someone else’s to keep counting, and then another person’s and another’s, until fingers and toes are lined up as far as the eye can see. (Weird image, but you get the point.)

And if now you are feeling less alone, but still grief-stunned and bereft, consider that a few weeks ago a lovely care package arrived for me, sent by my amazing (and grief-stunned and bereft) sister, Kate, and among other marvels it contained this marvel, which maybe can be an antidote to some of what you are feeling in this moment:

When in Doubt

When in doubt,
Wear faux leopard.

When in doubt,
Err on the side of generosity.

When in doubt,
Greet everyone as you would the Buddha.

When in doubt,
Collect blessings from those who own nothing.

When in doubt,
Absorb biographies to avoid life’s major mistakes.

When in doubt,
Make life’s major mistakes.

When in doubt,
Pay attention to the vendor shouting ‘Diooooos,’
Even when you find out he was only shouting, ‘Gaaaaas.’

When in doubt,
Carry a handkerchief and a fan.

When in doubt,
Thank everyone. Twice.

When in doubt,
Heed the clouds.

When in doubt,
Sleep on it.

When in doubt,
Treat all sentient and insentient beings as kin.

When in doubt,
Forgive us our myopia
As we forgive those who are myopic against us.

When in doubt,
Unreel your grief to a tree.

When in doubt,
Remember this.
We are all on a
Caucus-race.

There is no start.
No finish.
Everyone wins.

— Sandra Cisneros

And now if you are maybe feeling a bit less alone and a bit less grief-stunned and bereft, but you are still curled in a ball under the bed, unable to conceive of even moving, much less fighting, consider the jellyfish we saw on a lovely outing to the National Aquarium last week - consider how they floated ethereally and softly through the water, consider their beauty, and consider too the deadly shock of their sting. They contain multitudes, do they not? And you do too. You can be soft and gentle and beautiful, you can nurture yourself and the ones you love, and you can also find your sting and use it when the need arises, as the need is arising like a tsunami all around us.

Or you can stay under the bed - that is okay too - and you can pull out your phone in the darkness and make a donation or call your members of Congress or share helpful information with your networks or hold a virtual megaphone up to the voices of the people who most need to be heard or contact a friend and lean on each other or any other of the vast array of options the digital world holds. This too is good.

I wish I had more wisdom to offer, or help, or anything really. What I can offer is a listening ear to anyone who needs one, a shoulder to cry on, a promise of empathy, and - for any local folks - a batch of cookies fresh from the oven, enjoyed together in my cozy sunroom, or outside in the warmth of almost-spring, with my hellebores poking their soft little heads from the earth, and the sweet smell of soil and new life all around…

Stay strong and hopeful, my friends. My heart is with all of you.