WH Auden

I recently listened to a video of Michael Sheen reading WH Auden's poem "September 1, 1939," and several lines of it jumped out at me. Here we are, poised on the edge of a similar war, and his words ring as true now as they did then: "We must love one another or die." 

It can be easy, as we listen to the news, to become despondent and anxious, to feel helpless in the face of so many catastrophes. I find lately I'm watching too many Youtube videos on doomsday prepping, and so of course that is all my feed presents to me now. I purposely searched for some cheerful content yesterday to reintroduce some lightness to the line-up Youtube offers me. As Auden says, "habit-forming pain" can feed itself and soon you can't get out from under it. Preparing is one thing; wallowing is another.

Amidst all that is going on, we must remain positive, not in a naive or blind way, but purposefully, to intentionally keep the darkness in the world in balance. It's important work.

I've written lately about how difficult I'm finding it to write "fluff" during these heavy times, but I have to remind myself that sometimes you need the fantasy in order to survive the reality. You need the breath of cool air before diving back into the inferno.

Auden ends his poem thusly: "May I...Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair, Show an affirming flame." Which makes me want to shout for the first time in my life, "Burn, baby, burn!"

Prepping in the time of choler

What with everything blowing up around the world lately, I've been thinking a lot about personal emergency preparedness. I've always been big on food storage and whatnot, and of course growing my own vegetables. I've researched wood stoves and generators, I've got rechargeable lights, a dehydrator, canner, juicer, and vacuum-sealer. I've got a high-volume water filter and, yes, a large supply of toilet paper. I've tested out various kinds of can openers (not happy with any of them -- anyone got a good recommendation?), frozen vegetable seeds for future years, bought extra canning lids, and laid in a lot of hand sanitizer. I've got books on survival and first aid, and I know how to knit socks and weave fabric.

But there's one area I'm woefully unprepared in, and that is the emotional part of emergencies.

I've been watching the protest/coup/blockade/siege/pick-your-noun going on in various places in Canada, and I'm swamped with feelings I can't even accurately identify. I've always been a bit smug about how peaceful and reasonable Canadians are. They're usually unflappable sorts, and when things went bad January 6th in the U.S., I think many of us here in the North sat back with a smirk and said, "That would never happen here."

And yet, a year later, here we are. 

I think it's the disappointment that's the hardest for me to grapple with, more than the fear, anxiety, anger, or impatience. It's the disillusionment. Come on, people, you want to say. This isn't who we are. We're better than this. We have a legal system, a voting system, and the populace has a say in the government and a formal channel for registering disagreement. That's a great advantage we have over many countries in the world. Do we really need this extreme entrenchment, this refusal to hear anyone's voice but our own? Endearing snowball fights aside, I really expected more of Canadians. That dismay is what unbalances me. All the cached toilet paper and freeze-dried beef cubes in the world won't do us any good if we are at each other's throats.

I understand there are real grievances and that everyone is tired and feeling beleaguered. I've gone on protests myself, but only ever to raise awareness or register my unhappiness, not to dig down and refuse to budge until the government was overthrown. When we were marching for the climate or Ugandan child soldiers or the preservation of local rivers, we didn't pull our children out of school and pack along guns. Protesting is one thing; aggression and hate are another. It's a fine line between useful, effective protest and mere temper tantrum. It breaks my heart to see this infiltrating the country I chose and love. I'm left feeling there is no safe place left in the world. How do you prepare yourself psychologically for that?

 

It's come to this...

I have mask envy. I went to physio yesterday, and I saw someone with the most perfect, form-fitting mask. It didn't poke out like the prow of a ship. It didn't fog glasses. It didn't have to be worn in double layers to be effective. It didn't slide down her nose or slide up to poke her in the eye. It was, may I say, flattering. I lay on the table with my doubled-up boring blue surgical masks with the gaps at the sides and the elastics pulling my ears forward and experienced my first-ever wardrobe-related bout of covetousness. Forget your Jimmy Choos and your Armanis. I must find out where she got her mask.