Prophecies

Nearly five weeks in and I’m starting to wonder if it’s real; the pandemic, that is. Am I like Alice in Wonderland, having drunk something peculiar and entered an alternative reality? Perhaps I am in The Matrix, cleverly deceived into thinking of my experiences as real. Well, every experience is real, of course, but how do we make sense of those experiences and from them construct a coherent picture of reality? What is really real?

Since my blog post about Perspectives, I’ve wondered about the ways people are interpreting this globally shared experience of a viral attack (if it really is shared; how do I know?). Some seem to think that there is a manufactured crisis and that we are being played; that we need to wake up and stop being deceived.

There is a feature of perception called ‘perceptual set’ whereby we see what we want to see. There have been lots of psychology experiments demonstrating this and it does indicate how easily our perceptions can be guided; manipulated even. Advertisers have found such psychological research invaluable, as have governments, of course, and anyone with an axe to grind who has access to the tools of mass communication. And there are many axes, ready for grinding.

Sometimes messages are ambiguous. There have been some interesting playful examples circulating on social media of how people see the colour of the same dress differently or hear a spoken word differently. The ‘how’ and the ‘why’ intrigues us, and we want to know which is the ‘right’ answer. In cases of genuine ambiguity, of course there is no right answer.

A particularly vivid example of this occurred to me while watching a film the other evening. The film was called “The Leisure Seeker” starring Donald Sutherland and Helen Mirren. It’s one of the current genre of films for baby-boomers, dealing with topics like ageing, bucket lists, retirement, grief, independence, death. It struck me that the film (beware, spoiler alert) possibly contained two slightly different messages: one, that we should hang on to our independence to the bitter end and live life as we wish to live it; or, two, that you should take your death in your own hands, disappear and release those on whom you’ve become a burden. Depending on our political views we might read the film quite differently. 

Also, without knowing whether one of those messages was intentional, I am likely to choose the message which best suits my own feelings about being older (I’m still thinking on that one...) However, if one of those messages is intended, how important is it for me to know which one and to know the motivation behind it? 

Applying the same critical eye to another film, “Captain Fantastic”, (yes, we’re having regular film nights these days, thanks to Netflix) the idea of non-conformity seems to be challenged. It subtly conveys the idea that to step away from the mainstream is unsustainable and dangerous. It’s done very sweetly, appealing to north-western/American values of freedom, autonomy, right-to-bear-arms, wilderness..... I don’t think the message is particularly ambiguous but it is clever in how it conveys the idea that ultimately might is right (for ‘might’, read ‘status quo’) without completely crushing those illusions about free will. Is this a case of the film industry being utilised to ensure compliance? Probably. 

The scary thing about perceptual sets (biases, stereotypes, prejudices) is that we don’t all see the world in the same way - our realities are not the same. And what happens when we are presented with an alternative view? Very likely we feel disoriented, upset and angry, maybe; confused, paralysed, galvanised into finding support for ones own view and defeating the other. Very few people are comfortable living with ambiguity, at least where it impacts on one’s life in important ways. For example, is the official response to this pandemic an effort to protect us or to subjugate us? That’s a question keeping lots of us awake at night.

There is another aspect to perceptual set. It’s the idea of self-fulfilling prophecies. Again, Psychology has revealed many examples of how human behaviour is influenced by the expectations of others such as parents, teachers, managers. This phenomenon is known in spiritual practices as ‘manifestation’, the bringing into reality by attention and focus, like healing for example. ‘Prayer’ is another word for it.

Without falling headlong into Subjectivism, I do believe that it matters hugely how we look at the world; that we actively create what we see, whether through prayer, meditation or just expectation. Our realities are what we make of them. We have enormous power including the power to transform pain and suffering - to grow out of it. My son taught me that when I was trying to heal a spinal injury. Our transformative powers can change the world. If we choose to see love and kindness, love and kindness grows just as if we choose to see malignancy, that grows, too. Fear feeds itself, but believe in the good and good is what you see.

A Day in the Life

Well, here we are at the start of week five having been told by our government that it’ll be another three weeks in lockdown. Sheesh! I’m getting rather used to it. My typical day is starting to look like this:

7.30 ish - realising that I’m awake I get up with a “Wow! Another day!” I open the curtains and the door, listen to the bird song and enjoy the peacefulness (at least while Gareth sleeps on). I open my iPad, and settle myself with a meditation app; unless the iPad needs charging in which case I potter about aimlessly and browse Facebook on my phone; unless my phone needs charging in which case I put the kettle on and stare into space for a bit.......which is all my meditation amounts to anyway.

8.30 ish - Gareth is usually up by now and on goes the news. I resign myself to the fact that I’ll be subjected to it several times before the day is over.

9.30 ish - one of us decides that it’s the other’s turn to make breakfast. Neither of us remembers which of us did it yesterday so whoever’s hungriest makes it. By now Gareth is buried deep in his laptop and I have been right through my Facebook newsfeed, about to start on Instagram, WhatsApp or Pinterest.

10.00 ish - I remember that I promised myself not to drop standards and I get washed, dressed, make the bed and wash the dishes (only if it’s my turn to wash them, mind you). Gareth is somehow ready before me and impatient to know if I’m coming for a walk. So are the dogs.

11.45 ish (often later) - we’re back from our walk and it’s time for a snack, a cuppa and a decision what to do with the rest of the day (Gareth has already decided - laptop). I pick up something intelligent to read and settle in for a long read. I manage 30 mins. The news will be coming on again soon anyway, so there’s no point getting too involved. I check Facebook, WhatsApp, etc. again.

1.00 - The News. Nothing new since this morning. Gareth decides its lunch time, even though he’s had a couple of snacks since the mid-morning snack.

2.00 ish - we each try to look busy so that the other makes some lunch. We eat while Gareth studies his laptop, I contemplate the new stack of dishes needing a wash, the clutter that has appeared around us and all the interesting and worthy things I could be doing. The thinking and the lunch makes me tired so I take a nap. 

4.00 ish - afternoon tea. That sounds posher than it is. The outside beckons again, if I haven’t been out there napping, and the dogs are wondering whether there’s a play opportunity. It’s an opportunity to meditate again; well, staring into space for a bit anyway.

4.30 ish - I’m motivated to do something useful and/or creative so I spend about 30 mins browsing Pinterest for ideas, then send some messages on WhatsApp.

5.00 ish - it’s the Government daily briefing so on goes the TV. The news is grim. TV stays on into the main and regional news and suddenly it’s time to argue about whose turn it is to make dinner. I’m the one who has to come up with a meal plan otherwise we’ll be eating tuna pasta...again (which would have to be pesto pasta as we don’t have any tomato sauces left and I still can’t get tinned toms anywhere)

8.00 ish - the TV is still on, we’ve started on the wine and there seems little point in doing anything very useful now. It’ll soon be bedtime anyway, so we settle to watch something, anything that is vaguely entertaining........ before The News.

9.00 ish - snack time

10.00 - The News

11.00 ish - Gareth comes in through the door with the dogs and I realise I’ve been asleep on the sofa. Time for a bedtime drink.

11.15 ish - I climb into bed with a nice little read leaving Gareth in the sitting room with his laptop. I snuggle down with my book, read a paragraph...............zzzzzz

It’s a Beautiful Day

                                          




“Hail to the sun!”. The big hot orange rises as reliably as ever and casts a glow across the morning fields. Dew from grass and sheep mists the air. Sleepy daisies peep through their petals, yawn and stretch towards the day. Birds are busy in song, the sea breaks lazily onto the sandy beach and another lock-down day begins.

We’re into the fourth week. Easter weekend passed with the Archbishop of Canterbury leading a virtual Easter service from his kitchen, the Queen spoke again to the nation (I think she did; I missed it), family gatherings were on Zoom and the beauty spots were deserted. 99 year old Captain Tom Moore began his fundraising marathon walk of 100 laps of his garden and now it’s Thursday, the day when our government (poor sods) are to announce an exit strategy. We’re all waiting with baited breath to know how we’ll get out of this situation. Will children be going back to school soon? Probably not. Will everyone go back to work? Some will, perhaps - it depends. Will the 70+ and other vulnerable individuals have to continue their isolation? Yes, for sure but it might be longer than 12 weeks. Will the shops open again? Will/when the economy bounce back? Will life get back to normal? Do we want it to get back to normal?

So many questions and so few answers.

There is no doubt that this event is transformative, and that’s not really a big enough word to describe it. In my ‘Sorry Mum’ post I likened this ‘grounding’ to children being made to think about their misdemeanours. Most are taking it on the chin and amusing themselves within the confines of whatever home they are locked down in. Creativity and imagination has time to flourish. We have time to confront the question of what is really important to us and many are finding that we had enslaved ourselves to consumption, that we don’t actually need so much of what we’d been persuaded to need. We are finding ourselves and looking to each other.  We may be physically distanced but we are reaching out with our virtual arms wide open.

There is real suffering too, though, and I am struggling to reconcile that with my own, very fortunate comfortable situation. I can’t do much except donate to fundraisers, sew some masks and clap the frontline every Thursday evening. While Captain Moore’s fundraiser has today reached over 13 million pounds and inspired people the world over, I am complying with the directive to ‘Stay home, protect the NHS and save lives’. Home for both of us here is a lovely place and this time of reflecting has brought me to the belief that I must cherish the good and the wonderful in humanity, nurture my spirit, celebrate the gift of life, and live each day that I am lucky enough to wake into, with Awe.

Keeping a Perspective

It’s the third week of lockdown with the Easter weekend and good weather approaching. What a crazy situation. The PM is himself in hospital with the virus, the police are trying to ‘encourage’ social distancing and the Queen has made a rare TV appearance promising, like Vera Lyn, that ‘we’ll all meet again’. When is that, we’re all asking; soon, in a month’s time, longer......?

Trying to keep a sense of perspective depends on your particular set of circumstances. Pardon me if that’s an obvious statement, but I guess the question of whether this is ‘just another flu and why are we making such a fuss about it’ isn’t forefront in the minds of the doctors, nurses, care workers and others at the ‘front line’ dealing with the constant flow of Covid-19 sufferers into hospital high dependency beds of which there aren’t enough. There isn’t enough protective equipment for them either.

From the standpoint of a politician, the economic perspective, countering criticisms about how the crisis is being handled and prospects of being re-elected after the crisis is over must figure pretty large in the mind, I suspect.

If you’re a parent, concerns about whether you’re doing enough for your children’s education and well-being must weigh somewhat, as well as financial prospects going forward.

If you’re elderly, vulnerable and self-isolating, one’s mortality will surely feature quite a lot in one’s thoughts.

If you’re a runner, an athlete, a surfer, a walker, bird watcher, or whatever, it’s a draconian measure - an infringement of liberty to be prevented from a run in the park, a swim in the sea, an hour surfing the waves, a walk in the woods. “What are the chances that we aren’t giving away our freedoms in the longer term?” many ask. 

Every one is concerned for different reasons and there are many ideas about what is ‘really’ going on; they pop up on social media every time I look at it. There’s the idea, for instance, that 5G is the culprit so masts are being destroyed; or this is a virus that we’ve known about for a long time so this is fake news; or the virus is a creation that has been deliberately let loose so that a nation or some evil capitalists can take advantage through the stock-market. We can be very imaginative with our conspiracy theories and the human mind is certainly capable of coming up with a good collection of them.

The fact of the matter is that for whatever reason, something has happened, we weren’t properly prepared and no one knows where it’s going. We’re all trying to figure it out as we go along, including the politicians, scientists, the economists, the health service providers, suppliers and transporters, farmers, airlines and travel services, businesses large and small, teachers, families and individuals. 

So......to keep a sense of perspective, what is the bigger picture that the journalist, Jonathan Cook, in his blog, asks us to remember? A phrase that my great-grandmother has passed down through the generations is “There will be wars and rumours of wars, but let ye not be troubled” and I guess ‘crises’ could fit nicely into that instruction, too. Another of these inherited sayings is “Count your blessings”, as well as “Don’t worry, it’ll all come out in the wash”. The wisdom of those generations filters through as I seek perspective, listening to the birds and feeling the sun as it shines through the window.

This will pass.

Relevance

 I’m not too sure what day it is anymore. It was reported yesterday that the death toll world-wide from coronavirus now stands at 53,000. I guess there will also be many who have just passed away unnoticed and unaided. 

Our TV/radio is our window on the pandemic. Our wobbly phone signal and internet connection is the only way to maintain contact with anyone because here, looking out from our windows, all we see are empty caravans that by now would have been reverberating with human activity. Outdoor furniture sets lie in wait for bikinis and barbecues; bikes and trikes for excited children; canoes, surfboards, buckets, spades, paddling pools.......all quietly waiting; very quietly. 

This quietness is like the quietness we’d observe at a funeral. That’s one way to feel about it. But if we didn’t know that a pandemic is raging ‘out there’ Nature in its bliss would predominate in our awareness. Bird song is more evident, rabbits are running amok, grass is no longer in fear of lawnmowers. 

It’s surreal.

I have wondered about my relevance in all this, and whether I should presume to have any part to play. In the bigger picture I am just a statistic. Our government officials each night present us with graphs of how this thing is progressing. We are shown the faces of a few who have died, some of their stories told in order to remind us of how tragic this is, because the bodies are piling up and inside every body bag are the remains of a lived life.

Our NHS are our heroes right now, badly treated though they have previously been by Trusts, government and by so many of the general public. We clapped them again last night, from our remote hideaway, joining with the rest of the nation to thank everyone on the front line. But do they want thanks? It must help their morale, I guess, but what they really want is enough PPE to do their job safely, and to be tested for the virus or immunity. And I’ve been wondering if there’s anything I can do to help apart from staying home as directed, doing ‘fuck all’.

I’ve made some attempts at helping out remotely with the grand-children; creating a few little on-line amusements within the limited scope of my technological abilities. I’m hoping it’s sufficient to maintain a connection with them, to remain relevant to them. They are growing up so fast and no one knows how long this will go on - how long before families can gather together again.

Last night I found a Pinterest post of instructions to make face masks. It was created by Jessica Nandino, a nurse who produced her own face masks in the absence of sufficient workplace supply. She requests that no one use her pattern and instruction for monetary gain but to make them and give them to the front-line. If that’s all I can do to have some relevance in these unprecedented times, I’m on the case. 

Unprecedented

Unprecedented. The word crops up several times every day on radio and TV. I’ve even heard the word ‘plague’ once, though plagues are not, in fact, unprecedented.

In this day and age, of course, we’ve imagined that pandemics or plagues are within our control. Ebola gives us a scare on occasions but we’ve managed to put it down, not without great cost in terms of suffering, of course, but it’s been contained. SARS put us on alert but we got on top of it. This time, we’re not sure - perhaps this is a virus that will really defeat us. We seem to have forgotten how Spanish flu nearly did for us, and now here we are again, with little in the cupboard to protect or sustain us.

My father used to tell us stories of his childhood, remembering how a child’s mind sees things differently. He remembered being kept indoors ‘because of the epidemic’. His imagination run riot trying to picture what an epidemic looks like. How does one explain to a young child that social contact can kill?

There is plenty of social contact through our digital media at this time, however. Sitting here in my caravan with no human sounds except our own, there is actually a lot of digital noise. If I open Facebook, it streams statements, jokes, commentaries, pictures, pleas, arguments, and the inevitable commercial advertising, of course. WhatsApp provides a series of virtual garden fences over which we can share feelings, check on each other and keep information flowing. We aren’t short of communication channels in this day and age; we have unprecedented global connection.

In the past we wouldn’t have seen a plague coming until it was almost on our doorstep. We moved about far less, and those travelling the globe did so slowly instead of in airbuses. This virus has zipped around the world with us and we’ve signalled to each other that it’s coming...... but were we prepared? 

It seems not.

In the book I’m currently reading, “The Aquarian Conspiracy” by Marilyn Ferguson she talks about social and personal transformation; stress and disturbance being the ingredient for radical change. I’m not the only one fervently hoping that this ‘unprecedented’ set of circumstances is the spur towards a new world order. We are already seeing our leaders and politicians confused and hapless, ill-equipped to make and communicate decisions confidently. But at grass roots level, altruism, initiative, responsiveness, bravery and self-sacrifice has shown what humans are capable of. 

Last night we joined in the Nation’s evening ‘Clap to thank the NHS’, our unique and precious post-war creation. We clapped and clapped until our hands were sore. There’s no one here within ear-shot, but I hope the little disturbance that we made to the air waves reached those at the front-line. Bless them and “God’ help us all.

Being at Home

Day 4 of lock down; day 2 of site closure. It’s just us and two other couples on site including the owner and his wife. It’s very quiet, though the springtime bird song is delightful and surf has been pumping away in the background. This is how we have always liked it here - quiet. Now though, it’s quiet for a different, scary reason and everyone here who has a home to go to has been told to leave.

Staying at home in order not to spread this coronavirus is mostly being observed though there are always those who think the rules don’t apply to them, or that they know better, that aren’t worried about getting it, or simply didn’t get the memo. Surfers have continued to turn up here and last night we saw grass roots social control at work in the verbal bashing they got on Facebook. I wonder if it’s had the effect of deterring them.

I feel for the surfers, and for everyone for whom the great outdoors is their natural home. “Go the fuck home”, a slogan being used across social media, means what, exactly? What if you’re  homeless? Vague instruction hasn’t helped either. To begin with we are told that while unnecessary travel is not ok, it’s ok to travel 30 mins to a place where you can take exercise, and what happens? Exactly what you’d expect to happen - accidental congregations of people trying to have some much needed recreation in a remote place.

For our part, we now have this beautiful place to wander about in with plenty of social distance. How lucky are we? But the children’s room that I had prepared for Reuben and Ivy’s first sleep-over now stores the extra supplies we picked up for the long stay. The gifts for Seb and Margot from our trip are in there too, with the other toys, waiting for a joyful visit. I hope it won’t be too long. It’s already been too long after 4 months away in the motorhome. 

Last night I had disturbing dreams. My grandchildren had forgotten me; the bond broken. I’ve fretted about how to maintain contact. They are so young, and video linked contact is so hit-and-miss unsatisfactory. I miss having them on my lap or beside me as we read a story, or chat, or play a game, make pancakes. But I am glad of this time for them and their parents. For the moment they are getting full-on quality time at home. 

Home is where the heart is, they say, and my heart is in many places.