Tomorrow

Staying home. No plans. No place to go. Grocery stores and empty shelves. Empty roads. Empty skies. The drone of news. A stranger’s eyes. This fear shakes me to my core. The invisible threat of the unknown creates a constant anxiousness of wash hands. Wash hands again. Today has lost yesterday, and even more. I try to decipher who is friend and who is foe. I realize my world, my tiny space in the universe, is in chaos, a result of me and you, the insatiability of the human ethos.

Was this pandemic a result of nature or a lab grown evil? Either way, it is terrifying. If nature is so broken that we are in a constant threat of mutating viruses, then how will we live? If this was a planned event, we live in fear of the wrath of very sick people. If humans choose to survive, in many ways, we reach the future by revisiting our past. How did we live before we were afraid? How do we take that safer existence, and merge it with today’s realities? It is not an impossible vision, it is within our grasp. We must live with a collective intention to simplify our lives in many ways, to magnify our human genius, and to mitigate the negative results of technology. We must live on the earth as if it owns us, in lieu of us owning it. More is not better and less is not failure. More is quality and trust. Better is time and space. Success is not equivalent to busy, but to service. Love is not desire, it is safety. And in our new lives of less, with value, more time and more space, in service and safety, we find our connections and place in nature, our ebb and flow, our purpose.

America is a piece of a global puzzle. We have tried for centuries to put the puzzle together in such a way that the world can spin in peace. Humans create their own chaos. In this time of uncertainty of a sustainable existence, trivialities on all fronts must be set aside. War is a result of demented minds. Right now, we have little time for the deranged spirit. We need the steady hand of service and the keen eye for tomorrow, we can no longer settle for decay and doom, but rather a period of planting, growing, preserving, nurturing, and feeding the human spirit. We have been focused on monetary gains, manufactured poverty, and imprisonment by debt and mundane employment. To espouse an anchored future, we must transform our institutions to reflect a new world mission that does not elevate mankind over the natural order, but rather creates a society that waltzes with it.

Today, we stay in our houses, with a world outside begging us to listen. Today, the flowers are in bloom, the grass is turning green, the birds are singing, and humans? They sit at their windows terrified of an invisible, yet lethal virus. Can we create a life worth living if we live in constant fear of survival? We must calm the storms, the floods, the fires, the tantrums of an angry planet. This glorious garden can survive without the parasites we label human. In our valueless worth to the planet, we can identify our merit. Our valuation will not be in our ability to destroy, but in our ability to preserve. We become not an economy based on wealth, but an economy based on restoration.

The work of transformation is joyful. It is like holding a baby for the first time. The world is seen through new eyes. We imagine not the expected, but the needed. We eliminate the frivolous for the detailed. The ghetto for the renewed. We begin to live in solidarity with life, all of life that is a cog in the natural machine that begets life itself. We can no longer assume the human mistake of self importance and an elevated sense of worth. Our worthiness is intertwined in a mirage of life that floats past our windows, and also exists beyond the mind’s eye.

We can sit in our houses and wait for the grand finale, or we can beg for an encore, a second dance with all that we love. We can choose ignorance over a science that paints pictures for us to incite the imagination. In all that exists, much is dying. In a very tragic way, we are watching the last goodbye. In my love letter to my heart, I ask: who does not want another chance to stand by the sea? To embrace the ones we love? To gaze in a puppy’s eyes? To savor the first bite of homemade mashed potatoes? The sip of the perfect wine? The gaze of a stranger from across the room? The awe of vistas from a mountaintop? The chills from the perfect notes and verses of a song? The first hello? The last goodbye? To be human on this blue spinning miracle suspended in space. We might disagree on the trivial, but how do we disagree on the last call? Humans, I am begging you, when you come out of quarantine, instead of walking each other home, let’s look at this home with a reimagined sacredness. Sacred is an understatement. We are a failed miracle that still has time to age well, like perfect wine. Pour it into a crystal goblet and make a promise for tomorrow. Cheers to me and you and us.

Photo — Unsplash

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Patty Brown

Patty Brown

If life steers you into a dead end road, and you are trying to find your way, skip the GPS, take the road with no traffic. Founder studiO, early morning poet.