I feel like we are living in a novel. Some time ago I read a novel whose title I don’t remember, trying to experience dystopian literature. It was a novel about days getting longer and longer and the way people at first didn’t notice, then they did but did not make much of it, then could not believe this was happening to them and, when finally effects started to show it was too late to do anything. This book strikes me as very familiar these days.
I oscillate between the joy of seeing the sunshine and smelling the spring, the panic of having absolutely no idea what tomorrow will bring – health wise or economy wise and brief moments of hope that things will be ok. Whatever that means. And a moment later I hear of someone who lost their job, their business or someone who can’t reach or help their child because they can’t fly to see them and the pain starts again.
“How can I breathe in and out in relief when there is so much pain in the world right now?,” I asked my partner who questioned my sigh. And to prove one more, unnecessary, time, why I love her, she looked at me and said: “Isn’t this a bit hypocritical baby, people suffer and die every day in this world, you know, why is it only now that we care?” It stopped me in my tracks. Right, why is it?
The truth is we have never known what any tomorrow would bring, people have died and starved and lost their jobs every single minute, since the day we were born and way before. The truth is there has never been any guarantee, just an illusion of one. The only difference these days is that there is more and more light shed on these truths by the minute. No more veils, life has decided to stare us right in the eye, naked and true and speak slowly and clearly: you KNOW nothing, the only thing you can do is live in the moment and keep the faith.