We all walk ancientrails. Welcome to the journey.

Slouching No More

Written By: Charles - May• 03•20

Beltane and Corona Lunacy II

Sunday gratefuls: Anxiety, in good proportion it keeps me aware, alert. Kate’s string of good days. No more feedbag leakage. Much, much less stoma leakage. Sewing. She made five bowl hot pads yesterday. Track light fixtures that I can’t open. A search today. Seoah’s desire to see Joe. Another cool night. My library. William Butler Yeats. His, “The Second Coming.” Poetry. The book, Number.

Now we know the answer to the question Yeats asked at the end of his all-apocalypses relevant poem, “The Second Coming.” At least for our time. Our apocalypses. “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?” Yes, I said apocalypses.

There are two underway, locked together in strange ways, commenting on each other, talking to each other in the newspapers. They dance together in the air over big cities, in the oceans, on previously empty highways. No longer slouching toward us, coronavirus and climate change.

We live, unfortunately, in interesting times. Those photographs of concrete ribbons carless. Delhi, visible. The manatees at play, dugongs, too. Monkeys out in the daytime in Singapore. Sheep and goats wandering the streets in Wales.

Dystopia, not quite to Mad Max, has settled over our lives. The temperature is rising, not only in infected persons, but in the ocean and in the Rockies. The doubled impact lies heavy on barrios, favelas, black and Latino communities here. Can you imagine living in radical poverty then having the temperature and the rains step up, your friends and family dying from a tiny virus?

Our era’s births in Bethlehem have produced not a conqueror of death, but its agents. Azrael has left heaven and this time not just for the first born.

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