I've become slightly phobic about it. Sort of anti-Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I have associated desperation with shopping and so every time I visit I'm anticipating the won't have what I need. Of course the fact they are social centres means they are vulnerable to the plague and yet they are vital. I still can't get the smell of disinfectant from visiting Tesco out of my nostrils. Sensory desperation.
I'm ok for the moment however. I have coconut oil - though only because the shop in town has it for cheap. That shop might as well be in Narnia now. Gosh, I can just about remember the wonderland of the high street...lined with magical phone case vendors and coffee shops. A panoply of flavours and colours punctuated by old favourites like WHSmiths or Boots. Reassuring! Keep the memory alive, Ghosty, like a torch in a cavern.
Surely even Corona cannot survive the invisible aroma field of make up and anti aging creams in Boots. A pharmacological bulwark; antiviral archers at the l'Oreal ramparts. Because we're worth it. Imagine the silent unseen war being fought in such a place. You'd never know until your eyes, greased up on tears, roll out of your head. Like a Hong Kong protester forcefed a state recipe of teargas and police violence.
My daily routine has changed weirdly. I've started going out for a morning walk really early (if you consider 7-7:20am really early) in lieu of exercise I'd normally do. It's still too bloody cold in the morning, but with only earlybird farmer, crazed dogwalker, or intense runner type persons around it seems a good time to stock up on sunshine and fresh air before a day indoors. I usually go out later in the day as well. We haven't yet met mandatory lock down.
Changes in routine are weird for me. Part of the reason I believe I'm neurodiverse. I'm sure change is weird for a lot of people. But routine is comforting and upsetting that, as is the case with the new unreliability of food procurement, is problematic. One can only hope others in my position are faring OK. This will be tough times for people with low mental health or particular neurodiverse needs and considerations. But of course the governments big bail out isn't for them. I listen to a lot of ambient music to get me through. Maybe I should build a playlist.
The clocks go back next week. Normally that would be a high point in my calendar. Mentally I mark the passing of the seasons and the movement of things like the Equinox. I give them an inner nod; a way to signpost surviving this far. You've made it through another winter, kid. Keep going. This to me is spirituality: the tools by which humans (that's us!) relate to our world. One we're increasingly at odds with. The language of signs and traditions to form a relationship that shoudl be nurtured, now more than ever. Who's with me?
There is an ebb and flow to life: the Chinese called it the Tao. To everything a time; things wax, then then wane. Always, at the peak of either, is the seed of the other. Nothing is permanent except impermanence. A time for sowing and a time for reaping. That is how we should live our lives. But somewhere along the line we got the bright idea to wander too far north. Then we had to invent central heating and mortgages. Now look at us; living in boxes that we now depend on to keep us safe from an unfortunate wrinkle in the biological world. An ecological refutation of our hubris.
Too far north I tell ya!
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