The moon still rises and sets in this topsy turvy tragic world.
The city still takes my breath away though there's absolutely nothing to do besides walk and dodge other humans.
The abandoned flour mill just down the block seems like a metaphor for everything now.
The Guthrie Theater has cancelled the rest of its season. For a week or so the sign in the lobby read, "This building is closed today." Now that sign is gone, and the doors are plastered with dire notices.
The city is all lit up. The marquee above the Guthrie says "Promise this world your love." Is that a line from a play? I don't remember.
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Pandemic
~ Lynn Ungar
What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart;
which are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your heart.
of compassion that moves,
invisibly,
where we cannot touch.
Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.
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