Communique

From “The Plague” by Albert Camus, the last paragraph of the book when the city gates are opened, the plague is gone. “Indeed, as he heard the cries of delight rising from the city, Rieux remembered that this delight was always threatened. For he knew what this joyous crowd did not, and what you can read in books — that the germ of the plague never dies or disappears, that it can lie dormant for decades in furniture and linens, that it waits patiently in rooms, in basements, in trunks, among handkerchiefs and paperwork, and that perhaps the day would come when, for the sorrow and education of men, the plague would revive its rats and dispatch them to die in a happy city.” What Camus doesn’t say in this last paragraph, but which he makes clear in the book is that the plague, plague response, lives on in the human species.  While this response is varied, it can be found back in time to the earlier plagues in human history.  Further, I would argue that one response can be seen in

The Evolution of Hand Washing in a time of Pandemic: Hand Washing in a time of Pandemic

Every year for as long as I can remember beginning in late March through April I have my worst allergies. In the time of the pandemic this is not good timing,  No one wants a runny nose or chest congestion now. This week with a series of sunny dry warm days, the streets are colored with yellow pollen.  My daily exercise is a walk, it is unavoidable, the gym and my swimming pool is closed.  However this year almost everyone is wearing a face mask as recommended.  I look like everyone else!  I have several masks.  The mask protects me from the pollen floating in the air.  I have allergies this year, but to date they have not been severe or debilitating.  Now everyone can have a mask.  

Audio report here: https://www.dropbox.com/s/vienn2ko5fct6gw/Communique6.mp3?dl=0 I’m just coming In from my walk: The BIG news today, a house in the neighborhood that just went on sale. (The house had recently been purchased, followed by a multitude of workmen, painters everyday for weeks.)  Is it a flip house, or what’s the story here?  >Reporting here from the house that just went on the market.   I’m speaking to a gentleman from the neighborhood,  “Really shocked, the house was just purchased”.  “And it has just been painted”.  > “Sir, Do you know the owner?”  “No, I've only spoken to him a few times.  I know they have two children”.   >The house is on the market with an unusual firm, Caldwell Banker Bain.  The house previously sold for $1.6 Million and is on the market for $1.8.  With Spring coming the heather is very colorful. The landscaping looks great.   Here’s another neighbor. >“No, I don’t know why they are moving”. The

Conspiracy Theory If you really want a conspiracy theory, I have it on good accounting that this Pandemic has been orchestrated. In our funny very human manner we have not considered that the higher beings we have looked for in the universe aren’t ever present here on earth, influencing human history. No we can’t see, small or taste them. Their intervention, in this case, the Pandemic is an effort to slow down the environmental degradation and an effort to create a teaching moment for our species. It is an act of grace from a higher power willing to attempt to create a better understanding amongst us, thereby bending the curve, from mutual self destruction, our current trajectory, to a higher order for our species. Why have we so thoroughly separated and isolated ourselves from one another? We have separated ourselves from one another to the great detriment of the planet, ourselves, and all other species here on earth? And why are we in this race to destroy our habitat? The

Watching the sky this evening, wind moving the trees. Out the window, watching the movement of the evergreen limbs in motion. Are they moving in a different way? Has the pandemic changed this movement, the motion of the limbs? I wonder. Yes, it is nonsensical and yet, . . . I study the trees, the movement, and am mindful and alert to detect the change. While watching my mantra comes to me, “We are ALL in this together”. And if there is an omnipresent power acting as director, it would be a fine time for this enormous teaching moment. We are ALL in this together and if we can flatten the curve of the virus, we could flatten the curve of the climate crisis. Because we are ALL in this together. And yet, I can see that this could all spin down into chaos. I see both sides. I am pulled to the positive, hopeful side while fully acknowledging the dark possibilities. My strong suit here I feel is that I am seventy-one years old. Even with the worst projections I would still have l

When I was in Hawaii, Gabriela and I visited two historic Hawaiian sites.  One was a fisherman’s village with a seven hundred year history, the other was the birthplace of Kamehameha, the Hawaiian King and the site of the Temple to the Whale.  Here is what I wrote after visiting the two sites. Both historic sites had places dedicated to the gods where the gods were thanked.  Fishermen gave a portion of their catch each day. There were other sacred sites in the village.  Besides Kamehameha’s huge stone monument there were several other places for giving thanks to the gods in the village.  At these historic sites it seemed these people understood the unpredictability and tentative fragile nature of life in a way that kept them in touch with the spirits. The gods everyday were acknowledged and thanked, part of everyday life.  Plain to see these shrines were an integral part of their world. In tune with life in this way they would have accepted events both good and bad as part of

With the new protocol, not touching your face with your hands due to the virus threat I realized that an ancient familiar adolescent admonishment was reactivated. With some pleasure I was wiping my nose on my sleeve. It didn’t occur to me at first why this seemed so satisfying. At seventy-one years old the adolescent rebellion lives and defying the directive gave me a special pleasure.

On the trip from Hawaii home I’m sitting in a window seat looking at clouds, above the clouds, I think of what an accident it is that we are so fortunate to be here, we humans. I am floating above the clouds looking down on earth. It is really impossible to imagine what could have created all of this, beyond my abilities. I suppose the religions of the world represent what humans have imagined. All of which, in my mind falls short. The patterns of these clouds tell me this. I can accept that it is beyond my imagination to understand. And if there is one who can grasp and imagine it ALL, I’ll give that super being the name God. I am not at all sure there is that one. So I try to imagine some benign force at work here. The cloud formations remind me of ice formation in water, irregular patterns and lines with open blue water. These clouds also have thickness. The trip home. And all that it means to me, HOME, out the window I realize it is not just Portland, as meaningful as