HANGING BY A THREAD
I keep hesitating to lower my pen’s nib to the paper, knowing that when I do, what flows from it will inevitably have to do with Covid-19, and don’t we all long to experience a day without thought or mention of it?
We recently returned from vacationing on our favourite Tuscan island to which we have been going annually for seven years. We stay in a small, family-run hermitage consisting of the nine bedroom main house, and a few cabins dotted around the wild, terraced property. Unreachable by road, the house was originally built by and for the family in 1950’s, the family hauling building materials over rocky terrain by donkey as well as by boat; a boat small enough to enter one of the three coves without being shredded on the rocks.
From the landing cove to the house entails climbing 300 stone steps; something one becomes grateful for in less than 24 hours of experiencing the abundant cuisine, ingredients of which come from the sea, the on-site organic garden and the family’s mainland farm. We’ve become close with this family and a handful of regular guests and so it was that as we climbed the last steps to the terrace, six of these beautiful souls were waiting for us with open arms into which we fell, one after the other. Months of isolation, fear and caution ripped a sob out of me; to hold and be held; the relief of it and the ensuing joy that in the mist of a pandemic this could be possible was overwhelming.
And how, you might ask, could this be possible? Well, first of all, everyone who lives on this small island had been tested: not a single case. Secondly, the owners of the hermitage had decided to take fewer guests and only those who live in Italy. And finally, every guest had to have a blood test 48 hours before arrival. For the first 8 days we were only 8 guests, then a group of 10 Roman friends arrived for a few days to celebrate a birthday. I will never forget the sound in the dining room the evening they arrived; animated talk and bursts of laughter and the clatter of cutlery, the oohs and ahs as each dish arrived at table. It had been 4 months since we had heard such sounds: the music of communal enjoyment. It was liberating….momentarily. Because even there, in the midst of being cared for, of breathing in the eucalyptus- scented air, basking in temperate sun between dips in the sea; even if one might drift off into a nap or take a walk up to visit the goats, or dance and dream, inevitably coronavirus would worm its way into one’s thoughts and conversations. One can no longer “get away from it all.” Still, we all knew how privileged we were to be having such a rare experience and the force of nature constantly called us back to the moment.
The tapestry of our lives is dense; intricately woven, complete with flaws. Each day, each year, new threads are added, while some from our childhoods become a little worn and faded. Nonetheless, every thread has its place, representing an event or memory, a love gained or lost, here a victory, there a disappointment. When a thread starts to fray it risks unraveling the whole thing.
We are all experiencing a few frayed threads these days, one of them being the freedom to touch. Yes, we can still express ourselves verbally and in so doing sometimes “touch” another, but the lack of physicality between us threatens our sense of reality. To touch something or someone is proof of existence. It is not enough to see, or hear, or smell. When we touch we feel. The dictionary defines the very ‘to feel’ as a) to be aware of a person, or object by touching or being touched, and b) the experience of emotion. Without the ability to touch we feel sad and lonely; our perception of reality becomes distorted and fearful. The whole tapestry of our lives, our sense of identity, start to feel in danger of unraveling. Yet because of the mismanagement of this pandemic by so many governments and the ensuing terrorization via the media we “feel” afraid to “touch.” What to do?
Yesterday we drove an hour south to visit some young friends who have been staying on the family’s self-sustaining farm. When we arrived, a long table under a pergola was set for lunch….for 12 people, 10 of whom we’d never met before. As they came to greet us I ‘felt’ that shiver of fear and confusion: elbow bumps? Distanced hellos? As we got nearer we ‘felt’ each other out and by the time we reached each other we all felt hugs were in order. Two infants lay on a blanket on the ground at one end of the table; cousins born 2 months apart during the pandemic, their plump new bodies full of health and hope. Did I feel 100% sure that all that touching was without risk? No. But I was a 100% sure that I needed it, that we all needed it, that living without it isn’t living.
Of course, each of us must decide what risks we are willing take. I’m certainly not ready to risk a plane flight or any crowded indoor space. But deciding what we are comfortable with entails examining our feelings, i.e., how much of what we feel at any given moment is fear-based? What is the fear based on? And how much are we willing to deprive ourselves of based on the illusion of safety?
Yesterday, and on the island, we wove some more threads onto the loom. One day, for one reason or another, we will run out of thread and eventually the tapestry will fade and disappear. But while we are alive let’s make it as rich and colourful and fully felt as possible.
Be well,
With love
Maggie
