eat the wild strawberry

 

 a stormy wet day in 2009, Killary Harbour, Ireland

 

 It's all dreadful, the future looks so bleak, a friend tells me. Every day another blow. And so on.

Later, I read this in Rebecca Solnit's excellent newsletter, Meditations in an Emergency

 

I think of all of this while I walk along the river and the wind is so fierce in my face that I move faster and faster. My cheeks sting from the cold and suddenly, there's the thought of my big blue mug, filled with steaming tea, in my hands. And this small thought of a pleasure awaiting me back in my warm kitchen brings on a sudden cascade of happy memories, so much so that I start to hum. These moments in my life of pure joy, the knowledge that something vague and very good is going to happen. I realise, once more, that this expectation of joy is what has directed and surprised and comforted me all my life. Looking at the river glittering grey and blue in the cold winter afternoon, the barges gliding by and the sun about to set behind a small bank of clouds and all along, I feel a sense of being safe. Despite it all. The bombardement of bleak news, the ever changing diagnosis, the daily conundrum of gaining and maintaining a semblance of health and wellbeing, the fearful future outlooks. To not let it overtake me. Not allow myself to lose It. My soul. My self.  My happiness, and how can I even think of happiness with all the horrible things going on. Do I, do we, even deserve feeling happy, feeling joy, feeling good? Whatever type of happiness the future will hold, it can only be a lesser one I think, or maybe I'm wrong and it will be a deeper one? 

The thing is, I have never been in real danger, never experienced poverty, never been unable to seek medical help. I always had access to education, have been encouraged to learn, to study, to read, to visit, to debate and speak without any restrictions. In every place I ever lived, I had access to libraries, big and small, news media, gossip, rumours, jokes, satire, critical opinions, science. And while there have been times, years in fact, when money was short, very short, my fridge has never been empty. There has always been a garden or at least access to land where I could grow food. My existence has never been at risk. Nobody in my immediate family has suffered hardship since I have been alive. All my adult life, I have experienced companionship, friendship, support, I have never been abandoned, betrayed, ridiculed, cheated, deserted. Like most of us, I have experienced loss and grief and found ways and help to cope.

Yes, I have known fear, dread, anxiety, panic.  Some times, like now, to an extent that affects my sleep, my peace of mind. My vivid imagination is a blessing and a curse. In a recent exchange somewhere on social media, I wrote: I've been panicky since Chernobyl, more or less. And yet, I am still blown by how happy I can feel.

Relax

Bad things are going to happen.
Your tomatoes will grow a fungus
and your cat will get run over.
Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream
melting in the car and throw
your blue cashmere sweater in the drier.
Your husband will sleep
with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling
out of her blouse. Or your wife
will remember she’s a lesbian
and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat—
the one you never really liked—will contract a disease
that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth
every four hours. Your parents will die.
No matter how many vitamins you take,
how much Pilates, you’ll lose your keys,
your hair and your memory. If your daughter
doesn’t plug her heart
into every live socket she passes,
you’ll come home to find your son has emptied
the refrigerator, dragged it to the curb,
and called the used appliance store for a pick up—drug money.
There’s a Buddhist story of a woman chased by a tiger.
When she comes to a cliff, she sees a sturdy vine
and climbs half way down. But there’s also a tiger below.
And two mice—one white, one black—scurry out
and begin to gnaw at the vine. At this point
she notices a wild strawberry growing from a crevice.
She looks up, down, at the mice.
Then she eats the strawberry.
So here’s the view, the breeze, the pulse
in your throat. Your wallet will be stolen, you’ll get fat,
slip on the bathroom tiles of a foreign hotel
and crack your hip. You’ll be lonely.
Oh taste how sweet and tart
the red juice is, how the tiny seeds
crunch between your teeth. 

Ellen Bass