Part 3 By Christina Carney
April 2, 2020
Hope doesn’t have to be naive. It doesn’t have to ignore the fear and sadness. It can be grounded in
The bird songs
Paws insistently pushing your hand
Placed upon your chest, waiting to be
Pet and loved.
All the moments small but adding up to something you can grasp. A million particles of love in motion.
April 3, 2020
There’s something here about a sense of just needing to survive. The thought underlying my thoughts – we’ve just got to get through this. This is a long thread in my life. To live joyfully amongst the sorrows.
This is a strange place, although I’ve felt it intensely at times. Moments of pure joy rising and bursting out when I’ve been in deep sorrow.
But there’s something weird about this time. We’re trying to do “normal’ things. There’s crisis, but not intimate in terms of pain.
A missive…
That we find a vaccine soon. That people stop dying. That my loved ones are safe. That we – as a human race – take this as a signal to do things differently.
Including me.
That we honor the earth and the wild. That we become better stewards of the Earth and each other.
April 5, 2020
Wearing the mask felt so very strange. Absurd – I felt ridiculous – but it also just made the terror a little more intimate. Trying to pass people in the aisle swinging wide and then getting mad when someone seems clueless. I feel like I’m living in a science fiction novel.
April 25, 2020
The day is beautiful and waiting for me. The sounds of breakfast being made. A light wind, ringing chimes and rustling the leaves. The temperature is perfect. I’m so very glad to be alive.
April 29, 2021
It’s interesting to read my thoughts about masks a year ago, when we first started wearing them. I’ve become so accustomed to wearing one and seeing others wear them that I’m startled as I see more and more people without them. A small gesture that has such impact to save lives. And, I have to say that I’ve appreciated having a bit more personal space when I’m in stores. Who knew there would be such controversy around something so small.
Over this past year there have been many of those little pockets of joy that I described. And the fear and sadness, rising and falling like the beat of my heart. That lesson I learned so many years ago taught me that we can’t wait for sorrow, fear and uncertainty to stop, before we feel the joy. Otherwise, we’d wait forever.
“A million particles of love in motion.” This came out of my visual journal and landed in my heart. And it is this, that seems to be at the center. The tension between the hardships and horrors of life and those particles of love.
I’ve been an intermittent journaler since I was a preteen, but when we started quarantining in March of 2020 it seemed like a good time to pick it back up. I’ve filled several journals since then, writing three pages nearly every morning. This series looks back at pieces of those journals as a way to begin processing and integrating all that’s happened over the last year. I share it because maybe you’ll find something here that resonates for you. It’s always good to know you’re not alone. It’s also an invitation; to consider how you might process and integrate your own experiences, whatever that looks like for you.
