One of my all -time favorite poets, Laurence Ferlinghetti, the great American bard and book publisher, died this spring just shy of his 102nd birthday. From his poem “A Sweet Flying Dream”
We drifted
wafted easily
We
flew wingless
Full of air
our hair
Buoyed us
We
trailed our slim legs
In streams of silver air
There
Was nothing
blowing us down
Or away
From each other
We cannot escape one another. Even though we haven’t been able to physically congregate for a year, we also cannot ignore each other. Though we may feel isolated, worried, and fearful as some of the outer world opens up, we are all floating in this unknown realm together. And if indeed we are flying, it brings us levity and sometimes loss of control. At times it might be easier to just let go.
I have wild dreams about what I’d like to see happen next in my life. Partly encouraged by an artist residency at Centrum; partly in response to the pandemic, I sense a new beginning on the horizon. A new chapter of life for us all is imminent. It is here in fact. There is no holding back, so, best fly with the tricks of our highest ability.
As we take wing into the unknown, we can buoy each other. By that, I mean it is impossible to get through this time alone. Yet, the paradox is that many of us have been only, singularly just that: very alone this year.
This past year we have been mistaken, confused, and forsaken. We have been at unease and full of anxiety. In “American Tune,” Paul Simon wrote, “You can’t be forever blessed. Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day. And I’m trying to get some rest.”
During my time on this artist retreat I planned to get rest. I have two kids. My husband and I share a work space and we have been single-file working and parenting all year. During my retreat, I limited my news intake, but couldn’t help but hearing about two mass shootings in just one week, which has rattled my bones. This pandemic is not just be about the virus. It is about us and the way we treat one another. It’s about the way we treat ourselves. It’s not about me. Life is about we.
One of the reasons I work on Harp Escape is to create something for my own mental health and sense of purpose. Over a year ago I began making Harp Escape videos as a means to focus on the inner world of the self. Even before the pandemic, I wrote, “We cannot fully retreat from the outer world stresses, however; we can escape to a more peaceful place through listening awareness. Through audio and video recordings, Harp Escape cultivates such a space.”
Everyone is always asking the other, “What are you working on?” “What are you producing?” “What are you making?” This can be depleting.
I say, you can’t make something all the time. Like a cherry tree grows, there is a time for flower, time for fruit, and in wintertime there is a rest. Part of my time on this artist residency is to create new content, yes, but it is also time for me to do inner work that no one sees. Part of this behind the scenes work is listening.
I know that from time to time, I need to retreat from all of it – urban living, politics, covid news, and even my own children. Why? So that I can rest. So that I can come back better than I was before. The pandemic has similarly given us a collective a chance to retreat. Were we actually all that happy before? Was our culture really that healthy?
The pandemic has put a great strain on all of us in every aspect of every way we live. Nothing has remained untouched. Now, we are slowly returning to physical connection, and I’m hoping its with a new view. I believe we can heal our damaged fabric of society if we listen to one another. Let’s not place our thoughts in fear and pessimism. Let’s instead dream imaginative solutions for how we can do this better.