The eerie silence of a bustling road

The very surreal state for which we are all in is surreal. This is no matter of economics. This is no matter of an election year. This is a matter of potentially millions of dead people across the globe. What a shot in the arm.  I used to fantasize about this situation (or something very similar to it) before I got sober in 2004. And now that my surreal dark fantasy is actualized, I, like most of humanity, have no comparable experiences in my Rolodex to process this craziness. Nothing I have written thus far is new information – I can only guess most feel, at the very least, similarly. And maybe the following sentiment is what I am working towards. Now that my fantasy is here, it is ruined (that may sound worse than I mean it). My previous drug fueled fantasies of a global pandemic where a cowardly reaction to my inability to take responsibility for my own life. But that attitude is not now. Right now we are all learning about a new level of powerlessness, and my best course of action is inaction. I must wait and prepare mentally and physically for when the dust settles and I can be of some assistance.

Regardless of the aforementioned drivel – certainly motivated by some pedant ideal of intelligent observational distancing nonsense – I am truly eager to see the byproduct of this horrid event we are (hopefully) all enduring. I am not outside. We are mostly not going outside. With this level of commitment to isolation, I have built my world inside – it is almost as if the outside world has no presence – as if it were once a good idea put on hold. How quickly will we black out this segment of history only to pile it atop the mound or our unresolved traumatic experiences? Yes we are aware of the cause, the spread, and all the other documented details that allowed us to (hopefully) get to the other side, but are the roots anchored to causation too deep to dig? Are we capable of being humbled enough to remove ourselves from the equation? (Never so much have I wanted to be a bird.) I just hope we can, as Leonard Cohen once said, remove ourselves as the hero of our own tragedy – what remains is the authenticity of the human experience (I said that). I hope we are strong enough for long enough to drop this macabre spell of microscopic peregrination.

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