Kabir Kadre
Kabir Kadre

September night

Kabir Kadre|1 year, 9 months ago

Desperate times they say… Do desperate measures require an inner sense of desperation?

I wondered something like this about an hour ago as I was pulling out of the parking lot of the nature preserve.

Am I experiencing adequate levels of desperation?

“Look the other way,” the mother said to her children as they passed us on the trail, “these people aren’t wearing masks.”

I thought for a moment, but considered I didn’t see a skillful way to explain to her that as we were sitting at the bench facing the ocean, it was her children who are upwind from us and that I would be holding my breath for the next 10 seconds to let their exhales drift by.

Sitting there watching the great snowy egrets, jumping fish, sparkling water, and grasses growing, I remembered back to times in the Mountain West when an airplane might fly over and I would think to myself – “can’t even get away from the sound of humanity here.”

From our perch at the bench, we could see the freeway to the left, a highway to the right, construction cranes, and houses all around, and yet there we were in a beautiful open space, just feeling some sense of quiet and nature blowing through our bones.

An eco-friendly visitor center, kind and relaxed rangers and about 50-50 relaxed visitors versus those expressing real angst at the proximity of other people. Even in the wide-open ocean breeze and marshlands…

But desperation. Our little slice of America here (meaning of course the USA among all the other Americas) is really tripping along some precarious high wires.

Should I be more desperate about the election, about the “first wave” that seems it may never end, or if it does, in catastrophe?

Should I be more desperate to address 100 million climate refugees coming forward as the oceans rise?

But I digress…

Should I be desperate that my father this week seems to be accumulating diagnoses like disaster supplies? Should I be desperate that he seems to rather walk with friends then wait for death and taxes in the hospital? Most certainly no on the latter.

That situation is uncomfortable at best for many. My dear brother with the weight of responsibility, flying tomorrow to Ground Zero to see what service he might provide. My sweet stepmother, herself recently injured, and has just lost her wedding anniversary to multiple hospitalizations and terrifying uncertainty for the state of her beloved… Those friends and family nearby yearning to be some consolation or support, so much tension.

Should I be desperate that I’m unable, or is it unwilling, to travel to the heart of that scenario?

My father has been gravely concerned for my well-being this year, not unfounded given my financial, physical, and caregiving support inequities of the last nine months and a little more. Should I be desperate to have better standing to give him peace of mind, at least in the little corner of his frame that I might occupy?

Should I be desperate for myself, approaches to even begin to address these situations of inequity seem to rise and fall like waves on the beach.

The care community has grown quite beautifully of late, I have a lot of confidence in that.

My health still seems to hang on. Yesterday was awful uncomfortable, and yet I can’t help but wonder if there might be some way we don’t have of measuring the way I might feel in this broken and sensitive body were my father, so far away, battling the pains of congestive heart failure with two visits to the hospital bracketing that span of 24 hours?

Financially, somehow, a kind of cliff has loomed just two months out for most of this year.

I do not know the future. I know my heart, and I know it is better outside the fields of desperation and anxiety.

Today began, of course with meditation.

The golden sun just now over my shoulder to the left grinning through the pine needles overhanging the window, dropping into the ocean haze and mist creeping down the valley offers such a spectacle, I had to break the paragraph just to say.

Today began with Patience and I going through the usual motions, this time set to the audio of my beloved Terri telling us something of her view of the living expressions of evolving consciousness, so beautiful, and moving amongst us today.

About an hour in, as I was lying on my side treating what may be the last vestiges of backside wounds, the phone rang…

90 minutes have elapsed since the last sentence. It’s been an eventful 90 minutes.

My dear cousin Ingrid was calling, both to catch up and to debrief the acute situations unfolding with our family in Montana. It’s been a while since we spoke, I think we manage to ping one another a few times every couple of years or so and it’s always a privilege to hear her voice express her brilliant mind and devoted heart.

Ingrid is a steward of the land in Montana, but for the earth. And a dear friend to my father. Her own father recently afflicted with the pandemic seems now to struggle to mind his potential to infect others, many of whom are his age and vulnerable in their 80s.

Chaos seems to be the rule of the day. In an act of apparent heartlessness I have asked LB to find somewhere else to be this night outside of this house. An act that breaks my heart to fulfill, I can only hope that the morning and dawn’s new light finds this situation in better form and ripe for new life.

This was the result of an exceptionally challenging house meeting. We do these on Sunday nights, perhaps mornings would be better. Each time they have ended in tears, or some other discomfort – usually remedied better than this – although perhaps maybe this is a good remedy. I hope so.

The morning was a series of text messages, telephone calls, and reflection around the state of my father’s health, his well-being, and that of those around him, in search of the kind and compassionate path for all to walk by his side (and by ours) as he navigates this rocky path in his journey.

I completed the weekly review of projects, communications, and to do’s. One item that has been on my list for probably many years now is a regular Sunday occurrence to check out the nature preserve. I have heard that it is wheelchair accessible. Today I learned that it’s true, mostly, with help. To be honest, and able-bodied paraplegic could probably navigate the dirt paths and boardwalk ways through the thick marsh foliage.

I’m silenced. Brokenhearted. Stark clarity must be brought to the situation and so I have acted. Patience has agreed to put me to bed.

LB has gone out. Ahlea texted, I had hoped to provide me an avenue for reprieve. I pray he will be well this evening and we will see him at 7 AM for meditation.

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