27 November 2016

In the mid 1980s I got lost in a dark space. I only realised this fully some time later when we moved to paradise and set up house as a family of three with a huge variety of insects (both a first for us). Back in Ireland we had been battling unemployment and the establishment with the radical agenda of the time, all the various campaigns ranging from the political to the philosophical to the environmental to the personal. It was a hectic, wild and full time. I have few regrets - but never again.
There was that one evening in our messy crumbling mansion, where we - about ten people at the time - had come together to watch tv. We were so full of ourselves that even watching tv had to be a commune activity and I remember that of course, we had discussed this beforehand. Eventually, we all sat in front of a small black and white portable tv and watched Threads, the BBC drama about the nuclear war.
It was screened in two parts with a panel discussion half way and at the end but I never made it beyond the first half hour. Instead, I can still see myself, I was rocking on top of our bed, a keening mess, begging R to get something, drugs whatever, to be prepared for when the time comes - or worse.
A year later, Chernobyl happened. But by that time, I had made room for my fear, incorporated it as yet another enemy into my radical  feminist agenda and I had developed some of that snide sarcasm we all seemed to polish up with every new doomsday scenario. Not enough at times, the Ethiopian famine and that whole Live Aid crap hit me big time shortly afterwards, but I got by. Mostly by reassuring myself that others could cope alongside me.
Now, thirty years later, I look at the innocent, dreamy woman I was then, getting so carried away. Was it motherhood, hormones? Probably.
I wish.

Last night we talked about fears again, we rarely do, but that morning I had opened up the news feed on my phone to this"Please don’t read this unless you are feeling strong. This is a list of 13 major crises that, I believe, confront us. There may be more. Please feel free to add to it or to knock it down. I’m sorry to say that it’s not happy reading."

We sat down to eat a delicious meal in a small Italian restaurant and cycled home through the cold night air, looking into the lit up windows of our comfortable neighbourhood. Back home, we watched a thriller with Mark Rylance, the only actor I have a crush on, we drank xmas tea (black tea with cardamom pods, anise, orange peel, cinnamon and safflower), we looked at the stars. We tried to change the subject a few times. We still try to. To be honest, I am not sure how to cope. One day at a time, I know. This fundamental fear has been the backdrop to my life for thirty years, there is no pretending that all has been well.




8 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

Always a sort of background panic, murmuring evil, evil, evil and fear. Yes.

liv said...

I think every human being lives with, must live with, a certain amount of denial in order to cope, to be able to survive. For some of us it must be a larger part.

Thank you so very much for the introduction to Arvo Part. His music is heavenly. Google tells me that his music is inspired by Gregorian chant which I have a fondness for. His composition here goes straight into the heart.

A said...

I too thank you for the Arvo Pärt. Balances out the rap music that suddenly exploded from the PBS station I was listening to yesterday.

Steve Reed said...

This is how we cope, and you said it yourself: "We sat down to eat a delicious meal in a small Italian restaurant and cycled home through the cold night air, looking into the lit up windows of our comfortable neighbourhood. Back home, we watched a thriller with Mark Rylance, the only actor I have a crush on, we drank xmas tea (black tea with cardamom pods, anise, orange peel, cinnamon and safflower), we looked at the stars."

In other words, we just live, and enjoy what there is to enjoy. We don't turn our backs on the dangers and ills of the world, but we also don't let them consume us. It's the only solution.

Colette said...

Yes, what the others said here. We learn to detach at the same time that we endeavor to fully engage. We didn't know that trick when we were young.

Nick said...

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall...". A little hard to believe sometimes, I fear.

Anonymous said...

We are watching the world move into a new rotation, one that scares us down to our bones. We balance our fear with wine at dinner, some laughter about something, and beauty wherever we can find it. Like here, your words.

Zhoen said...

When things fall apart, we have to hold each other. This is when we make progress, not when it's easy and going well. This is when we find out what matters.

Julian of Norwich knew hard, and if she could still say all will be well, then best to believe it. As the woman dying of esophageal cancer reassuring me "it's not that bad." Well, she would know, so I have to trust. And keep trying.