Five months in. Quarantine life.

8-2-2020 I made some damn good coffee. This is my second cup. I have no idea what time it is? After ten? Probably. It no longer matters. Is it Sunday or Tuesday? I keep getting that nag in the back of my mind. It causes a disruption in my train of thought. Am I forgetting something? Am I supposed to be somewhere? What day is it? Stay on the page Jami. Don’t pick up the phone. Nothing happened on Facebook since the last time you looked three minutes ago. There’s no letting up with the virus. We have just learned to wait. Now we must wait. All this time we were learning to wait. Now we do the actual waiting. That’s what dawned on me this morning. An aha moment.
How is this possible? How can I handle the excruciating uncertainty of it all? Breath by breath. I remember one of my very first experiences with yoga asana. The teacher said, just hold that shape for one more breath. And we did. I did. I learned to stay and breathe.
Within the context of this predicament I learn to live with new eyes. With new sensations. The pause is so refined . My breath is steady and focused. As in asana practice I am holding the pose through my discomfort. Until something changes. Until there is an acceptance of my predicament. My teacher Rich Logan says it takes at least seven minutes for the fascia to shift. Stay steady. Focus on the breath. Refine the pose. Shift as you need to. Then we can move past the acceptance phase to a sort of ascendance.

8-6-2020 I never even left my apartment today. Well, I did walk some garbage down. Then later I saw my neighbor. We had a little catch up on the back steps. She bought two potholders & then another neighbor bought two more! Groceries!! All the windows are open. There’s traffic out on the street and kids scream playing in the park. The sun is setting. I used to tell Jody that everything was already alright. Then David said it today. We started walking a particular path around the same time. It was comforting to hear him tell it. That was really good. I felt the presence of my ancestor teachers. We are all just walking each other home.