24 May 2020
Dearest friends,
Someone mentioned to me recently about struggling with lockdown and getting bored. I casually agreed, but when I thought about it later I realized I wasn’t bored at all. Here some restrictions were lifted last week and there is definitely more noise and more traffic now. I already long for the good old days when there was this exquisite stillness.
A few days ago we were daring enough to drive to the closest city, Reggio Emilia, to go to the natural food store. We spent a small fortune on all the things we missed and have since realized we could have lived without most of them. Oh, desires! By the time we got home we were shattered and ready for a nice nap. Along the way we passed a tall street lamp that has a bird’s nest on the top. The nest must be close to a metre across. Inside were a mother, father, and baby stork. We could see their long graceful necks over the top of the nest. Quite startling and strange as the nest looks so precarious – the pole is right on the side of the road with nothing else around it, the nest just perched on this long thin pipe. The birds looked regal and vulnerable at the same time. Every car slows down to gawk but at least it’s gawking at an exotic bird and not a road accident.
As I mentioned in my last letter I’ve gone video-conference call crazy. I wrote that so I could boast about my computer prowess. I’m even using Zoom and a google programme. Our IT head was so reluctant to let me use these programmes, as he was sure I would mess up downloading them, and then I would whine to him that I needed help and his life would end up being a misery. But to everyone’s surprise, I had no trouble with them. Then I begged him to at least tell me what a champion computer geek I’ve become, but I had to drag the compliment out of him. I’m still applauding myself; he just snickers and patronizes me. And people say life in lockdown is boring. My horizons are only broadening.
A few weeks ago we started having Sunday satsang in Italian. It’s a log-in system where we put up a prerecorded audio Italian satsang and then take it down an hour later. Great success, but I tell this because it’s a perfect example of satsang in the Covid-19 world. Today we have six sevadars here for maintenance. At 10:00 we meet in our conference room which has a table for 20 to 25 and chairs around the perimeter. So there are the eight of us listening to satsang with our masks on, some with gloves, and two metres separating us. It is slightly weird and very wonderful.
We have just been given permission by the local authorities to hold satsang at our centre. It will be for the local sangat only, maybe 200 to 250 people. The team met via video conference and decided on how to execute it. Temperature taken immediately on exiting the car, sent home if too high, hand sanitizing and making sure masks are in place, etc. We will hold it in our unfinished National Satsang hall which seats just under 3,000, but with the distancing required of 1.5 metres minimum between each person it will hold 350 maximum. The sevadars are excited and planning a military operation to ensure that we will comply in every way. I hope if we are checked that our standard is at Dera level. What I am clear about is that the atmosphere will be lovely no matter how odd or unnatural the physical experience will be.
It’s now Monday morning after a busy weekend with our handful of sevadars each day. I just read my opening paragraph and had a little chuckle. How things change in 24 hours! This morning I got up as usual and did my morning routine. After breakfast I would normally go outside and unlock gates and doors as if we were open for business. No one comes, or very few, the post sometimes, or the coffee vending machine maintenance company, but I open the gates as a statement that we are here and ready for whatever life brings.
But today my thought was: why bother? I can go down if anyone beeps their horn. I got back in bed, read for a while, drifted into sleep, then awoke thinking: what am I doing here? Why am I in bed? Is it the wrong time to be here? It was my first episode of Corona malaise and I had trouble adjusting to it. I then got up, dressed, limped downstairs (I have a wonky knee), and opened all the gates. Ann says my malaise is a symptom of old age. I say “yuck” to that. I feel fine again as I’m writing this, but there is a lingering sense of shock in the background that I could have such a curious episode of disassociation. I was not me this morning but someone else.
I wonder who I was.
Ann continues with total focus on the garden and the grounds. At the moment she is battling with insects that are eating the roots of newly planted vegetables. I know who will win this war. If I were a wood mite I would surrender now and run away to the next door neighbour’s garden. But some animals don’t know what’s good for them, so neem and pyrethrums will do the job of getting rid of them. (It’s now Tuesday morning. Ann says please keep an eye on my breakfast while I run down to water a few plants. I’ll only be a few minutes. I know then that I have an hour minimum. She will give her very- focused darshan to the courgettes, roses, peppers, and iris, and they will bask in her love, their leaves shiny and glowing with reflected love. Aren’t they lucky to have a master!)
Now we are eating fava beans, peas, radishes, lettuce, chard, and a few other tasty bits from the garden. Zucchini are going wild, so soon we will be feasting on them. I planted fifteen watermelon seeds but only five have come up. I feel like a master-gardener. In difficult circumstances, against unknown odds, I have nurtured them to life. (What rubbish! If you believe that you’ll believe anything. It’s a miracle any have come up.) In gardening terms I don’t have a green thumb, nor even a black thumb; I’m thumbless. Now we wait and see what happens next. I can see bindweed with their beady eyes on the melon plants. Will I follow through and pull out the whole root of the bindweed or will I be my natural lazy self, pull out the leaves without the whole root, and watch as the weeds strangle my little preciouses? All the time hoping that another miracle will happen and the melons will thrive despite their lazy gardener. My drishti is useless.
A true indicator of the change in atmosphere since restrictions are being lifted is that I was driving to the food market and realized I hadn’t brought gloves or mask. A moment of panic but realized I had a supply in the car. A week ago I wouldn’t have forgotten my mask. I guess it is natural to drift into the old automatic ways instead of strengthening the new version. A mask is beginning to be comfortable and comforting.
Well, my lovelies, that’s enough from me. All is well here. We both hope that all of you are happy and healthy. We send our love and, as the old song says – we’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but we’ll meet again some sunny day.
My love,
Bill