I am dependent upon Charles Dickens for my title of this blog:

      It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the age of
      wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the each of belief, it was
      the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of
      darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. 

Hard to believe Charles Dickens (1812-1870) wrote those lines in his novel, A Tale of Two Cities, published in 1859. It reads like something that could be written in any one of our daily newspapers. There is something strikingly similar about our present situation and the time in which Dickens tells his story. Dickens chose the conditions in France which led to the French Revolution (1789-1799) and what has been named the Reign of Terror, a period of calamitous upheaval among the people of France who struggled to find a balance of power in the dynamics of freedom and responsibility, of suppression and recognition of peoples in all the varied strata of human society.

Those epiphanies of what it means to be human being and to live out the grandeur of life in all its multi-fold moments -- these occurrences of such kairotic moments do not come  frequently with full force. But they do come and probably more frequently than we take note of "seeing" them. "Seeing" depends upon perception but also upon being conscious of what we are "seeing" and the possible meaning of what we are "seeing."

Three instances come to mind. The first goes back 388 centuries to Galileo's confrontation with the Church authorities who would not look through his telescope. The leaders feared what they might see if they actually studied the relation of the earth and sun. The Church's geocentric view was based not upon the scientific study of the sky and the dynamism of the earth's movement. Religious orthodoxy determined what belief was acceptable, and scriptures were thought to teach that the sun revolved the earth which was planted by God in the center of the universe and was unmovable (1 Chronicles 16:30; Psalm 96:16; Psalm 104:5; Eccleseiastes 1:5). 

Given such a world-view as ordained by the Creator, heliocentrism was condemned as heresy, and anyone who taught otherwise could be put to death or tortured as a heretic. So, when Galileo (1564-1642) said basically, "see for yourself," the ecclesiastical authorities refused. They refused to look through Galileo's telescope. Keep in mind also that this ideological "blindness" came 90 years after the Polish astronomer, Nicholas Copernicus, had already described the movement of the earth around the sun in his book "On the Revolution of the Celestial Spheres," published in 1543, and also banned by the Church. 

The Church's theologians not only wouldn't "see" what the science of their day was pointing to, they could not see that their scripture was/is not a book of science but a sacred story of the human soul's longing for depth, meaning, moral guidance, and hope in the face of life's tragedies. The frightening situation Galileo faced was the age-old dilemma that haunts us today: the failure of persons to "see" when their perceptions are stuck within a world-view shaped by an ideology arising from centuries of distrust and fear of persons who differ in race, gender, belief system, skin color, and place of origin.

Which brings me to my second instance when not "seeing" creates a crisis -- this one not between an individual as with Galileo and Church authorities. My second example is what happens when a society itself becomes fractured into opposing groups. This is what we saw on January 6, 2021, when the US Capitol was attacked by hundreds of individuals, resulting in the destruction of property, the death of five persons, and the invasion of private, revered spaces by rioters who threatened to kill elected governmental officials.

The attack in daylight was observed by people around the world. In fact, the number of people who saw the attacks is staggering. There seemed to be no effort to conceal the hideous action. Rather, rioters posed for pictures and appeared to relish being seen within the inner chambers of our nation's Capitol where government business is conducted without the glaring spotlight of public viewing. So, yes, what many of us saw was disturbing to the core of our being.

But now we are contending with people who did not "see." They looked but did not "see;" they even experienced looking directly into the face of violence themselves, but they did not "see;" they witnessed the criminal acts of breaking doors and windows, of individuals beaten with flag poles, but they did not "see." Not only did the domestic terrorists seem not to "see." Now we hear people in leadership positions, persons who were present, claim not to "see" what happened.

Galileo's Church authorities who threatened him with torture and death did not "see." They wouldn't look into Galileo's telescope. The domestic terrorists and their protectors did not "see." It is not a telescope into which they could have looked. They did look. They looked into the screen of those media outlets that perpetuate misinformation and inflammatory conspiracy theories. They looked and looked but do not "see."

Finally, let me describe another observation which was seen but maybe not "seen." Indulge me here with a lightness of perspective that might help us to "see" something important in this troubled time, perhaps something for you to ponder when you cannot sleep late at night.

Here it is. On October 19, 2017, the telescope on the Hawaiian island of Maui picked up an object in the sky estimated to be around a quarter mile wide with a length of five times its width, shaped somewhat like a cigar. It sped across the sky leaving astronomers stumbling through their minds in a less-than-graceful pathway of unchartered explanations. Some considered the object to be a different kind of comet, which might possibly explain the brightness of the object tumbling through space, arriving from the direction of the star Vega, and passing out of our solar system. This very strange object was named "Oumuamua," which means "scout" in Hawaiian.

Oumuamua remains a mystery to this day. But now comes Avi Loeb, Professor of Science at Harvard. Loeb and his assistant Shmuel Bialy published a paper in which they made a case for considering Oumuamua as an object of alien technology.

Now Loeb has stated his case in more detail with the publication of Extraterrestrial: The First Sign of Intelligent Life Beyond Earth. Loeb is nothing if not bold in his conclusions of what he takes to be the sighting of Oumuamua and what it might represent: the presence of intelligent life beyond our galaxy. "It would be arrogant to assume we are alone," he says. 

In any case, I make no claim for or against Loeb's conclusions. But for the sake of this blog and my topic, I side with Loeb in affirming the value of paying attention to what we "see." The world has grown stale and turned in on itself. The life of the adventurous imagination, of mythic wonder, and the possibilities that continue to call to us from the frontiers of our mind -- all of this assists us in "seeing" how grand it is to be alive.

When the ecclesiastical authorities insisted that Galileo refute his statement that the earth moves around the sun, Galileo relented and settled for his sentence of house arrest the remainder of his life. However, It is reported that as he relented he muttered, "But, still, it moves." 

(See also Dennis Overbye, "Did An Alien Life-Form Do a Drive-By of Our Solar System in 2017?" in The New York Times, January 28, 2021.)

Here we are together again as this year draws to its sad end. I would rather not languish in the tragic, putrid, miserable experiences all over again. Once is enough for the pandemic, the serious illnesses, the deaths, the isolation, the separation from loved ones, the loss of the familiar -- all of this and more stirred into a frenzy by political machinations we would never have associated with our democratic republic. Yuk!

The experience has been not just a bad dream, but a sordid nightmare. Now it comes to an end. We count the days, we look forward to picking up the pieces of our shredded traditions and institutions; we wonder what will remain of the world we knew, and we tentatively begin to dare to dream once more of what life may be like on January 21st.

Our soul drifts between the two poles of our human extremes: our faithful heart and our devious mind. We know very well the soul's noble character in which we love and receive love, we practice hospitality and graciously receive it, we feel deeply moved not only from the suffering of people we know but also those we do not know except through stories passed on to us by the media or our friends and neighbors. We open our hearts to the stranger in need, to the suffering of our pets and animals in the wild. We mourn the loss of life and the threat to our environment.  We hold these losses within the compassion of our faithful heart that moves us to create a better world. 


But then there is the other side of our personal and national character, the extreme that lies in the shadow-land of our consciousness. This is what I am referring to as "the devious mind." Here in the little neighborhood where I live, each holiday season we decorate a Christmas tree at the open-street entrance to our comfortable but modest homes. The Christmas tree is one you might expect in thousands of neighborhoods across the land, although our tree would probably win the prize for the most unoriginal, plain, uncreative Christmas tree. However, we enjoyed the tree even though there was not much to it, just a natural, green tree with no ornaments except the strands of colored lights. But someone continued to steal the bulbs. Finally, now only a few days after Christmas, our desolate, lonely and rather drab Christmas tree has only a few bulbs left! Our chairperson of the Christmas tree committee sent to all of our neighborhood the rather discomforting news that he saw no other choice but to cut off the electrical power to the tree. Actually, not a lot of us had noticed that the lights had continued to get dimmer as the days of Christmas came and went. 

But it is the principle of the thing! It is not just that someone(s) were stealing our bulbs. For heaven's sake, we would gladly have donated lights to anyone who did not have enough bulbs for their tree. Really, it is not simply just "the principle of the thing." No. It is the devious act of stealing the bulbs that intrudes upon the Christmas spirit and anything else that might be regarded as holy in our secular, pluralistic world. 

Because of its secretiveness, its sneaky act of petty theft that seems to be not a vagrant act of desperation but more likely an act of spite, of deceitfulness, dishonesty -- this is what makes the act appear to be devious. It is too close to the surface of our human character not to remind us of something deeper in the archetypal layers of personality where dwells the shadow that is nourished by lies, dishonesty, deceit, and underhanded acts.

This is the extreme of human personality that dwells in opposition to the faithful heart. We have to admit there is something in us that is fascinated by the macabre, the bizarre, the conspiracy, the catastrophe, and the pompous liar who commands attention to fuel his dark insecurity. 

The threat of the devious mind is real and a threat to us personally and socially. But our faithful heart leads us to compensate in order to ward off the danger because the faithful heart seeks the good, the true, and the beautiful. Think of our schools, universities, military forces, police, governments that create and support democracies, hospitals, churches, synagogues, temples, mosques, museums, symphonies, and on and on! Against the forces that would lie and destroy the good in the world, the Good prevails. 

Are we assured the faithful heart will prevail?  Not at all. And that is what brings us to this moment just before the New Year dawns. This is the moment when -- are you prepared for this -- the moment when we sit down quietly to formulate our NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS. 

In this simple unassuming act, each of us knows on some level that this is a moment of truth when we choose between the faithful heart and the devious mind. 

                                  Thanksgiving 2020 -- A Meditation

The Covid-19 pandemic has seized the world, prompting us to act contrary to customs observed during our Thanksgiving observance. This year, we wear masks, practice social distancing around large crowds, limit travel, and encourage each other to remain in our homes.

This is so unlike any Thanksgiving we have ever known, nor does it help that many of us already are stir crazy from isolation: How much we take for granted the deeply spiritual blessings of greeting loved ones, sharing a special traditional meal together, catching up on happenings in the lives of old friends and family, debating politics, watching and snoozing during the irrelevant NFL game. John Donne in his 1624 Devotions says what we are now coming to feel in surprisingly deep ways: 

       No man [woman] is an island, entire of itself; every man [woman] is a 
       piece of the Continent, a part of the main.

Yes, we feel our connectedness. We feel this bond not only toward our family and friends, but also toward our nation and its democratic institutions. Maybe more this year than ever, we think of how very precious is our heritage, the ideals of life, liberty, and justice for which so many have suffered and died. And we realize how very vulnerable our democracy is, how it can be destroyed by the demagoguery of one mad person and the passivity of fearful followers.

But it is such great suffering at the hands of the pandemic that seems like we are in a state of war. Consider these numbers as of this date:

• Recorded cases of Covid-19

            + Global: 59,939,306
            + U.S.:    12,605,047

• Recorded deaths

            + Global: 1,412,669
            + U.S.:       260,065

Consider also the traumatic stress experienced by health-care providers, emergency teams, and at-home caregivers. Then, there is the additional matter of closure of small businesses, amounting to an estimate of 13 million jobs lost, and a rate of food insecurity that doubled between 2018 and mid-2020 in families with children. 

These numbers are severe, but for those families and the children, the experiences are shocking. Granted, trillions of dollars from the Federal Reserve and Congress shored up our economy; also, the large corporations do not feel the immediacy of loss of operating income as do small businesses and blue-collar employees. At any moment, however, a political crisis or even a long-term swing in the political climate that threatens democratic process with authoritarian control, could destabilize our economy indefinitely.

But what, you may ask, does this have to do with our dreams, or to ask the question another way, what do our dreams have to do with the current situation involving the markets, the pandemic, and the tragic escalating number of illnesses, deaths, lost income, bankrupt businesses, and a wavering political climate?

Here it is important to remember these premises in our work with our dreams:

1. We see only what we think we see. 
2. What we think we see is conditioned by what we think we have seen before and/or
    what we are told that we are seeing.
3. What is not seen may be important and even more important than what we think we
    see, and...
4. Our dreams see things we do not.

How could that be? It is because our dreaming mind has been "seeing" for untold centuries. It has viewed our little petty dramas from the vantage points of a distant past and a fathomless depth we call the collective unconscious. As a result, our dreams reflect not only meanings important for our survival, but anticipations of what these times may mean for the future. Our dreaming mind has witnessed the birth of worlds and the end of worlds.

Let me give you an example. Here is a dream from a teacher, a male, past mid-life, with a sensitive nature, and a sensitivity to current events. This is a recent dream.

          My wife and I look around the ruins of what seems to have been a building
       of some importance at a time gone by. The condition of the ruins makes it
       impossible to identify the building and its purpose. What stories did this
       now almost-destroyed structure contain? Had it served as a cathedral, a 
       hospital, a school, or a large auditorium for public, civic, or governmental
​       gatherings? Presently it seemed to be a gathering place for a small
       dwindling group, led by a young man strutting like a cheerleader hyping
       a sales pitch for some ill-defined purpose. But he has had enough. Nothing
       connects, and he concludes by announcing that he is leaving, and he abandons 
       the ruins.
          My wife and I take all of this in with uncertainty of what to make of it. We
       are just before leaving when a dozen-or-so people wander in and take seats
       as if they are hopeful that something meaningful might happen. Some are
       obvious couples, some single, along with a few small children who cling to
​       what must be their parents. What is going on here, I wondered. Who are
​       these people who come to this devastated place carrying hopes that they
​       might or might not be able to name. 
          My wife and I hold hands as we started to leave in a fog of conflicting
       thoughts and feelings, including despair and compassion. Compassion won. 
       I turned, looked at my wife, and said," What if we stay here and join these
​       people to make something of what remains in the ruins?"

The dream in many ways reflects our present situation and extends it into the future. Note that the building has suffered some damage to the extent that its purpose has been compromised. The purpose itself may have been shattered and remains only in ruins. Furthermore, the young man's use of the ruins as a "stage" for his performance rings as hollow as the remaining fractured walls of the old building. He gives up. The place and its reason-to-be seem to be lost. But just as the observing man is about to leave, he is surprised by the small group of people and their children, coming in with expectations perhaps that something of their past and future may be re-membered. And the dreamer throws his lot with the people, their memories, and their hopes for the future. 

We must not make of this dream some parable or allegory. However, even to the untrained eye, the themes of the dream may resonate with our current situation. A "world" has come to its end, and new life appears with a promise of new beginnings in which might exist love, hope, and courage for a new world's dawning.

For the dreamer, this was enough at the moment to assuage the depressive and anxious tone of his life when the world in which he grew up was ending. Maybe for now there is meaning to be found in the ruins. 

I write this blog just three days before what has been called the most important national election in the history of the United States. It may well be. At stake is the character of the United States, the survival of our democracy as we thought it to be as did people the world over, the protection of our constitutional and judicial processes, participation within international alliances for the well-being of the free world, a resolve to engage the systemic racism that shadows our credo of "life, liberty, and justice for all." There are more issues at stake, but you know them as well as I.

I reflect on the gravity of this moment as a pastoral counselor and psychoanalyst who has lived in the southeastern and northeastern United States, the east and west coasts, and have been privileged to travel abroad. My view is shaped by depth psychology and theology, a life-time with my share of suffering and joy, losses and gains. 

As far as my political views are concerned, whether I am a liberal or conservative would depend upon the vantage point of the viewer. My vulnerability is that I am not nestled within a regionalism or ideology that protects me; and my possible strength is that I am not nestled within a regionalism or ideology that encourages a conformity. 

All of that is to say that I view this present moment and potential crisis through a lens in which I am searching for a sign of our well-being that could be described as a mutual care for the common good. With all of our fractured factionalism and issues that divide us, is there a sign of our oneness, a togetherness in which we seek a common good? Given the ravages of a pandemic that, as of this moment in the world, has attacked 46,099,224 people, killing 1,196,788 -- 235,431 of these deaths in the United States, is there a sign offering hope we will prevail?

Surely we care, do we not? Surely we cannot go about our life with a business-as-usual attitude, can we? Surely there is a weight of so much death upon our psyches that calls us to look within at our basic humanity, is there not? Surely we do not expect our first-line support of care-giving by doctors and nurses to stand alone at the juncture of life and death, do we? Surely if we look within the depth of human personality we can find a capacity to move beyond the dangerous moment when political choices may impact human destiny for decades if not centuries to come, can we not? There is such a capacity within our human personality, is there not, and a sign that we can see at work right now? 

This capacity in human nature to overcome differences and work for the common good, where is it located? Do we find references to this capacity in the great religions? I think of Jesus the Christ and his escape from a culture soaked in an obsession with sin. First, he had to leap over the walls of the books of legal prescriptions, the Mishna and the Talmud, taught by the Pharisees to protect people from the sins of idolatry, murder, adultery and other transgressions enumerated in an extensive legal code. Next, Jesus went out in the wilderness and desert to hear John the Baptist preach about the deliverance from sin through forgiveness, a way of life that convicted Jesus of its truth to the point he chose the baptism of John over the legalism of the Pharisees. 

This understanding of human personality as one flawed by a corruption of sin was overcome by Jesus in a discovery of love as a principle of human existence that brings people together for the achievement of a common good and well-being. And, like Jesus the Christ, Buddha offered a way of hope that transcended human suffering.

However, it is with suffering that he begins in his announcement of the Four Noble Truths: (1) the truth of suffering, particularly as it is experienced in birth, aging, disease, death; (2) that there is a cause for suffering, namely attachment or craving for that which we want but which cannot have, or which we have but is ultimately impermanent; (3) a cessation to suffering, that like everything that begins, there is an end; (4) and the end of suffering. This end of suffering is the Noble Eightfold Path that includes three areas: Wisdom (right understanding, right intention), Ethical Conduct (right speech, right action, right vocation), and Mental Discipline (right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration). And, like the intent of Jesus, Siddartha who became the Buddha, anticipated a development of the personality that culminated in loving-kindness.

How interesting, I thought, as I reflected on Christ and Buddha and their understanding of the human personality and its capacity, that those two prophets anticipated love would prevail at the points of human crisis and despair. But where do we see such  sign of hope in our world today? 

Then, as I watched the TV drama of long lines of people standing sometimes for hours, these people of all ages, races, and ethnic groups, as I saw them winding around in spiraling circles like mandalas unfolding around a voting site, I realized this is the sign. Something in these people, varied as they are, something in their deep humanity yearns for decency, honesty, truth, justice, fairness, a state of well-being for themselves, their parents, their children, and for all the strangers in that long polling line. 

Those long lines of people circling around voting sites, waiting for hours in sun and rain, heat and cold, sometimes laughing, sometimes anxious, sometimes dancing, sometimes standing quietly and thoughtfully, they expect that they can make a difference in a troubled world -- this is a sign, is it not -- a sign of hope.

How are you coping with the mess we are in? The "mess" I am referring to is a mixture of four ingredients: (1) the Covid-19 pandemic, (2) the systemic racism with its many tentacles, (3) the political insanity at the highest level of our vulnerable democracy, and (4) the environmental crisis that threatens rising sea levels, the destruction of human and animal habitats, a shrinking land mass, and a consequential ecological mass migration. 

Who among us can escape the emotions that flood our daily lives: anxiety, depression, loneliness, sadness, and anger. On the one hand, any of these emotions can possess an individual and necessitate clinical interventions. But on the other hand, these emotions can be helpful in the sense that they alert us to the realistic "mess" we are in, and also that we can do something about it. We may not be able to eliminate the forces at work in the mess that threatens us, but we can act to take care of ourselves spiritually and psychologically if we allow ourselves to feel the negative emotions and act quickly to apply "first aid." 

What do I mean by first aid applied to treat the overwhelming stress we are experiencing? I mean this: We are not helpless to respond to emotions that may seem at first to just be "the way things are," taking command of us, leaving us helpless as we sink in the dark pit of helplessness, negativity, and fear. As you read further, remember this, you are not helpless in dealing with your negative emotions. The question is whether you have the emotions or rather you let the emotions have you. And our "first aid" is a first step toward regaining stability and a state of centeredness in our lives. So let us begin. 

                                         PSYCHOLOGICAL FIRST AID

I am indebted to the World Health Organization for the list that follows as well as for that organization's very positive affirmations reminding us of the possibility of even thinking of psychological first aid. This is their list:
     Address basic bodily needs. What are the needs? What you would expect: food
     of the right kind (not just sweet snacks!), exercise, sleep, rest. Some of these
     you may already be practicing; but if not, the pandemic actually works in your
     behalf perhaps to allow for time and opportunities in establishing a routine
     that will serve you long after the pandemic fades.
     
     Avoid further harm. This takes two basic forms. The first is physical safety.
     Look at your living space and consider how you can make changes that protect
     you physically and also lift up your spirits. Sometimes even a rearrangement
     of furniture or hanging a poster or a loved one's photograph and/or artwork
     will do wonders. Secondly, consider your mind and what you are "letting" into
     your head. Not all music and talk shows are helpful. Consider a revaluation of
     what you are looking at and listening to. You have freedom to make changes in
     terms of both content and amount of time spent on news sources.

     Keep calm and carry on. Check in with yourself. Observe your breath which is
     a great regulator of how you feel. Press your pause button and take three 
     slow, deep intakes. Try breathing with a ratio of 1:2, for example, breathe
     in with a count of two, and exhale with a count of 4. 

     Set priorities. This is a matter of intentionality. How do you fill up your day
     and night? When we determine (1) what we must do, (b) what we would like
     to do, and (c) what we can do, then we can become intentional in our time
     management with schedules that will likely surprise you with all you can do. 
     Just be sure to allow for free time and things you know you enjoy.

     Connect with others. Yes, we need to observe the basics: wash our hands,
     wear masks, and maintain a safe distance while also not congregating within
     closed environments. But these are things we can do: arrange a meeting in
     outside spaces (our yards, driveways, parks, etc.); phone, ZOOM, and
     even consider writing a letter to an old friend or family member.

                                          SPIRITUAL FIRST AID

To the World Health Organization's list of approaches to psychological first aid, I am adding my additional thoughts about what we could call "spiritual" first aid. Our "spirits" are most vulnerable at this time. Already, more than 200,000 of our people in the United States have died within the first eight months of the pandemic. In other words, we are brought face to face with our mortality, our vulnerability, how quickly our lives can be taken from us, threatening us with despair and hopelessness. But, again, we are not helpless or hopeless in dealing with these most fundamental of emotions. Consider these resources: 

     The reservoir of the world's great library of sacred scriptures. After all, 
     humanity has gone through catastrophes through the centuries. All of these
     threats to life and meaning have prompted deep treasures of aspiration,
     transcendence, and ultimate hope. Not all texts strike us with the same 
     grandeur of meaning, but there are records of wisdom woven within the 
     annals of human suffering.

     Meditation. Do not close the door on this possibility for enriching your life. 
     There are so many ways to meditate: We may sit, we may move, we may 
     "lose ourselves" in something that calls out to us, we may reflect quietly upon
     a sacred text, we may watch a sun set or rise, we may walk in the woods, go
     diving, make love, attend a concert, go fishing, etc. This is not to say that
     everything we do is meditation, but that meditation may be anything we do --
     provided -- that we are guided by the Spirit within each of us.

     Participation in a community that recognizes and empowers our spirit. These 
     may be churches, synagogues, temples, mosques, or some other traditionally 
     recognized religious community. However, it may be some non-traditional
     gathering of seekers like ourselves. Also, as we are having to learn in our 
     present circumstances, our gatherings need not be in person. We are having
     to learn how we connect with others by the many technological media. Sure,
     we lose something when we connect remotely, but we may gain something
     else. Sometimes I detect a depth in the privacy of these remote gatherings 
     that seems to allow for the inner life of each of us to be present with that of
     another person.

     Dreams. It may well be that you already know the value and wisdom of our
     dreams. If not, you may let this time of limited physical gathering become
     one of listening to your dreams. There are many sources online that can 
     help a person get started. Then, gradually, you discover the language of 
     dreams, their archetypal symbolism gathered through the centuries, the
     patterns of meaningfulness, and the characters within yourself that you did
     not know were there: the wise old man, the priestess, the trickster, the inner
     female, the inner male, the spiritual guide, and more.

So there we are, some thoughts about possible sources of psychological and spiritual first aid. When this time has passed and a new world is born, we may look back upon these foreboding days as yet another move forward in claiming the great potential of our humanity and the possibilities for new life in a new world.













     

In my last blog of July, "Dreams at the End of the World," I shared a dream of the Japanese doctor, Terufumi Sasaki, one of the few persons who survived the atomic blast that destroyed Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Sasaki's dream came on the night preceding a cataclysmic shift in the world order, as well as that of the doctor himself.

I referred to the dream as a marker of that world's end, a world of Japanese empiricism, massive military battles that entangled East and West in violent conquest, and the pre-atomic world of nation states -- a time before the entire world could be destroyed by human weaponry.

But I also acknowledged that my use of the word "world" encompasses not just our planet's land mass and oceans. We live in many worlds and journey through several of them between birth and death. In this sense, "world" means the "story" in which we experience ourselves living at any given moment. For example, you and I are now living in a bizarre time of a pandemic, Covid-19, a minute aggressive virus that of this writing has killed 836,000 people, including 183,000 in the U.S.  Currently, there are 24,794,113 confirmed cases in 213 countries and territories, and 6,083 people are dying daily at this present time.

These figures give us a sense of our present story from the perspective of our health and medical status. However, our psychological story -- the story of our emotional, spiritual, mental, and social life -- that story is even more distressing. This story, our feelings about ourselves, how we treat others, how we treat our institutions of education, health, government, culture, and societies -- this story is distorted by an insanity of political aggrandizement, lies, misinformation, ignorance, and a willful refusal to recognize the validity and helpfulness of our scientists on the ground who are working to provide at least some basic guidelines for controlling the virus: wash your hands, cover your nose and mouth when in public, maintain a distance of six feet between yourself and the nearest person when at all possible.

When we follow those very simple guidelines, the rate of infection drops; when we do not, the rates go up. This seems simple enough, does it not? But it is not simple, at least here in our beloved country that has done so much to eradicate infectious diseases around the world. Now we struggle not to lose our way. 

This is a basic lesson in our evolutionary history. Down within our psyche dwells the basic instincts of aggression, a mistrust of the stranger from another "tribe," the settling of conflicts by battle, the fierce competition for resources of food, shelter, and love partners, competition for leadership within work and social groups, etc. All of these instincts developed to ensure survival in a threatening world, but now compete with the evolved qualities of mercy, kindness, cooperation, sacrifice, and love. So all it takes for the baser instincts to erupt and dominate us is for a sick or evil person to slip into a position of influence and power. It is a story as old as humankind.

Sometimes this happens through overt grabs for power leading to insurrections, coups, assassinations. But there are also times when the grab for power occurs by slight-of-hand within the democratic processes of the people who in good faith assume that the usurper also operates with honorable intentions for the common good. When this happens, the democratic processes can be manipulated with self-serving lies, control of information, promises to make life better, and attacks directed against would-be opposition. With mob-like chicanery, the usurper rallies followers who bask in the adrenaline-fed exhilaration and tinsel-thin glory of political power. However, make no mistake, the situation and the characters are dangerous because they operate with no moral center.

Here in this rough and brief sketch of the bizarre forces at work within our present situation, we see an intersection of the archetypal potentialities for good and evil, health and illness, care for the common good and the abuse of public trust. And when the dark forces prevail, we may find ourselves lost in a bewildering fog of anger, fear, hopelessness, resolve to find a way out, searches for like-minded people, and the ten-thousand hyper-active distractions that momentarily ease the pain and fear.

Throughout all of this insanity of our cluttered minds, however, one constant remains. That is our dreams. Of this we can be sure. And we can also be assured that our dreams bring some refreshing glimpse of a deeper reality than the mess of our waking life. In a practical sense, how does this work out when the dreams we remember appear to be so insignificant, so trite, like scrap images in the waste bin of our minds? But when we pull out the scraps of images and put them together as if we are organizing a jigsaw puzzle, we begin to see a coherent picture. When we study the pieced-together images long enough, the background emerges into the foreground, presenting something like a meaningful gestalt. It may take days, weeks, or sometimes months when we remember enough of our dream's images, when we consider their role as symbolic responses to the fearful, anxious stories we have been telling ourselves -- only then do we begin to formulate our soul's point of view.

And that point of view is compensation. A primary function of our dreams is to compensate our present situation by presenting a symbolic point of view from the depths of our soul where consciousness and the moral center dwell. Ancient cultures, including the Semitic, Greek, and Roman families of people, had some practice of oneiromancy (the practice of tending dreams) in order to receive messages from the deities or spirits who represented a superior wisdom.

One such example in the Judeo-Christian tradition is Jacob's dream at Bethel some four-thousand years ago. Jacob was the son of Isaac who was the son of Abraham, patriarch and founding figure in the ancient Hebrew literature. But Jacob was a cunning, dishonest man who deceived his father and stole the birthright of Esau, Jacob's older brother. Having created great, deep enmity between himself and his brother, as well as within his family, Jacob was forced to leave home and became something of a wanderer, seeking eventually to make his way to a foreign land where his mother's father lived and where Jacob hoped he might marry, have children, and begin his life again.

Along the way of his long journey, the wandering Jacob stopped one night at a Canaanite sacred place. Choosing a stone for his pillow he lay down to sleep. It may be that Jacob was in fact practicing some form of dream incubation, seeking counsel from some deity. This is his dream as recorded in the 28th chapter of Genesis. 

       And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of
​       it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending
       on it. And behold, the Lord stood above it and said, I am the Lord God of
       Abraham, thy father, and the God of Isaac. The land whereon thou liest,
       to thee will I give it, and to thy seed. 
       ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- .
       And Jacob was afraid, and said, how awesome is this place! This is none 
​       other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.

Four images stand out in Jacob's dream: the ladder, earth, heaven, angels moving up and down the ladder, and the Lord who stands above it. I will briefly consider each image and then reflect on how this dream compensates Jacob's situation, but also how this dream throws light on the role of dreams in an individual's life as well as that of the larger society.

Regarding the symbol of "earth" in Jacob's dream, it may be understood not simply as the physical locality of the planet, but as the "world" in which Jacob lives. "Heaven," then, is the location above Jacob, not just a spatial idea, but an inner reality of a higher consciousness. In turn, the "ladder" connects "earth" and "heaven," providing communication and relationship between the two spheres, guided by "angels" who serve as messengers that make communication and relationship possible. And above all of this is "the Lord," the God-image that the Hebrew people had not yet come to know fully. Jacob is at the beginning stage in the historical line of revelation and relationship that became known as the Judeo-Christian religion. Finally, these images so stun Jacob that he experiences the dream as an encounter with what he believes to be God. His truancy, deceptive behavior, and homelessness are compensated by this human-divine encounter that validates his existence with a summons to take responsibility for his life and his world.

This dream stands as one of many in the long Judeo-Christian account of its early beginnings, but it is significant because it occurs at the transitional point of one individual's life when his old world was ending and a new one beginning. Out of Jacob's experience came a long line of charismatic leaders, some honorable and some not, along the twists and turns of a history much like our present time in which archetypal forces of good and evil battle within the souls of a people for direction.

We cannot, and I will not, propose simplistic answers to our complex issues. But I continue to hold a conviction that at the heart of the mess we are in lives a moral center that appears in our dreams as images for understanding who we are, our place in the world, and what we are to do at this time. 

On the morning of August 6, 1945, fifteen minutes past eight, Japanese time, Dr. Terufumi Sasaki, a Red Cross Hospital doctor, approached a stairway to the third floor of the hospital where he practiced in Hiroshima, Japan. He had just taken a specimen of blood from a patient on the first floor and planned to take the specimen to the laboratory on the third floor. He may well have been distracted by a disturbing nightmare he had the night before when, in the dream, he had been beaten by the police and another doctor for practicing without a permit, a license of having completed physician certification.

Then, as John Hersey recounted the story:

       He was one step beyond an open window when the light of the bomb was 
       reflected, like a gigantic photographic flash, in the corridor. He ducked down
       on one knee and said to himself, as only a Japanese would, "Sasaki, gambara!
       be brave!"  Just then (the building was 1,650 yards from the center), the
       blast ripped through the hospital. The glasses he was wearing flew off his face;
       the bottle of blood crashed against one wall; his Japanese slippers zipped out
       from under his feet -- but otherwise, thanks to where he stood, he was
       untouched.

"Dr. Sasaki found himself the only doctor in the hospital who was unhurt." This account of Dr. Sasaki's survival is told in Hersey's gripping story of Hiroshima's horrifying devastation as remembered by six of the survivors Hersey was able to interview. He wrote his article, "Hiroshima," which was published in full by The New Yorker on August 31, 1945. 

That article by Hersey came to my mind as I pondered the topic of this blog, "Dreams at the End of the World." For the people of Hiroshima, their world ended with that atomic blast seventy-five years ago. What was it like for the people of Hiroshima in those weeks, days, hours, minutes before the utter devastation of their city, their familiar sites, their friends and families? What did they dream at the approaching end of their world?

Of the six survivors Hersey interviewed, we have only one dream reported. It is the nightmare of Dr. Sasaki, which I will repeat here as he might have told it in the voice of the first person:

       I am approached by the police and a doctor. They beat me for practicing
       medicine without a permit.

We can assume this is only a fragment of the dream, a fragment he was able to retrieve from the insane-like chaos of his traumatized mind. Still, even as a fragment, it is valuable for our reflection, taking care not to project our ideas on the dream's images.

We begin with questions. In the dream, where was he? Was he in the hospital, a medical clinic, or at home where he lived with his mother? What kind of person was he? We know his father had practiced as a physician in the near-by town of Mukaihara where his grandfather had become a wealthy landowner and from where his older brother was killed in the war. We know also that immediately following the blast, Dr. Sasaki worked for three days attending to the ten thousand wounded people, many dying, who made their way to the hospital. Interestingly, it took him ten years before he finalized his degree which he pursued each Thursday while working endless hours each day for the people who crowded his practice with scars of the atomic bomb. It may be significant also that he had been confronted by a senior physician for illegal practice of treating patients in his hometown following his early days at the hospital because he had not completed his medical license. 

We also know that Terufumi Sasaki grew up in a culture dominated by Hideki Tojo (1884-1948) who led Japan in the emerging confrontation with the United States and the attack on Pearl Harbor. Tojo's nickname was "Razor Tojo," because his colleagues described him as cold-blooded. He bullied, massacred, and systematically starved civilians as well as prisoners of war. With deliberate political aggression he rose to the rank of Minister of War and ultimately Prime Minister, advocating that Japan become a totalitarian state, furthering his nationalist and militarist ambition by consolidating power with Hitler and Mussolini in the Tripartite Pact. In 1931, Tojo wrote a chapter in the book Essays in Time of National Emergency, in which he called for Japan to become a totalitarian state in preparation for the "next war," a possible anticipation of confrontation with Britain, France, and the United States which he believed had conducted an "ideological war" with Japan since 1919. 

This was the militarist atmosphere of Dr. Sasaki's native country during the formative years of his childhood and youth. This was the "world" that shaped his psychological, social, family, educational, and spiritual development. It was also the world that ended on the morning of August 6, 1945, at eight-fifteen -- but not before he dreamed the previous night.

The doctor's dream interests me because of its story, but also because of its timing which so disturbed him that he couldn't go back to sleep. He got up earlier than usual, and took a train to the hospital to begin his daily routine. The changed routine, he later supposed, probably saved his life because it led to his placement in the structure of the hospital  where he was least vulnerable when the blast ripped open the building, killing or seriously wounding all the other doctors. 

I take note of that factor in itself as strangely interesting, but no less so than the story of the dream itself. By "story," I am referring to the nature of dreams, their narrative form. Unless they are interrupted by some disturbance in the environment, or within the dreamer's body, dreams will present: (1) a beginning, (2) a development of a story line, (3) a climax, however dramatic or simple, and (4) a conclusion or resolution, a sense of completion. 

As for Dr. Sasaki's dream, we possibly have only a fragment, and we are fortunate to have that. The fact he recalled even a fragment is remarkable in itself, given the indescribable catastrophic destruction he experienced. So much detail is lost, but what remains tells us much. Here again is the doctor's nightmare.

       I am approached by the police and a doctor. They beat me for practicing
       medicine without a permit.

Clearly the dream is symbolic. I mean by this that such an episode had never occurred in his life. Nor was that kind of physical violence by police and doctors a likely possibility. And so we can say that the "police" and the "doctor" are parts of his interior life, his psyche, or in the language we might use referring to one's inner life, the "soul." 

But here yet another distinction needs to be made. Not only are "police" and "doctor" symbols of his psyche, they are negative, shadowy images of police and doctor. These particular dream characters are engaging in immoral, criminal behavior. Why does Dr. Sasaki dream of such abhorrent characters operating outside the boundaries of civil and professional codes of conduct? Where might we look in his personal, social, cultural background? How was he as younger son treated by his family and particularly his father and older brother? We do not know; Hersey gives no insight about the early psychological development of Saskaki in his family.

But we do know this. We know that the cultural ideal of Japan's political and military leadership was bullying aggression. As I mentioned earlier, Tojo, the military commander and prime minister, was known as "Razor Tojo." Massacre, torture, and humiliation marked his regime and his death sentence by hanging for war crimes following his conviction by the International Military Tribunal for the Far East on November 12, 1948.

Such extremes, nationalism and militarism, invaded the souls of the Japanese people. The result was a zeitgeist, a cultural complex in which the human capacity for empathy was overshadowed by a drive for power and domination. That is how we could describe the actions of the "police" and "doctor" in Sasaki's dream. They exercise power over him when they cruelly beat him, and he does not defend himself because he has no power -- no "permit." 

Here, then, is an interpretation of the dream fragment. Dr. Sasaki is beaten by his inner negative power complex. The complex originated in the militarist spirit of his early years when his psychological development was impaired by the trauma of not feeling safe, and his interior images of masculinity were distorted by Japan's collective power complex fueled by narcissism, spiritual superiority, and a false sense of destiny. 

Finally, before leaving Sasaki's nightmare, it is worthwhile to note the synchronicity between his inner world and the world of japan's nationalist and militarist ventures. They ended together. I do not mean to imply that there is a causal explanation, but rather that there is an interesting simultaneity in the ending of their worlds and the beginning of new worlds. Japan would go on to become an industrial power disavowing war and its military heritage; Dr. Sasaki would go on to complete his medical training and learn the fulfilling art of compassion in the practice of medicine. 

Sitting here in my beach chair on this incredibly beautiful afternoon; comfortable in my flip-flops, swim shorts, and T-shirt; gazing up at the few wispy clouds swimming across the Carolina blue sky; remembering my life-long love affair with summers on the soft white sand of the Carolina beaches -- I am painfully mindful that this is not one of those summers.

Nope! I am sitting here on our back deck surrounded by lush green foliage of our yard's shrubs and long-leaf pines, but isolated physically from neighbors, friends, and family -- especially our delightful granddaughter in California. Isolated is too strong a word for our condition of lock-down during this Covid-19 pandemic. We can venture out for essential services. But although some of our friends and acquaintances stretch the perimeter of safety, we recognize that the spiking of infections wants us not to venture too far, not to believe that we are over this menace that lurks everywhere and continues to reveal ongoing new ways of attacking young and old.

It is wearisome, this new way of life. It is not natural to maintain distance from others; it seems bizarre to keep our faces covered by masks, and to think twice before touching any surface. It is exhausting to never know for sure who we can trust, what we can trust, when we might ever be able to trust again.

But this uncertainty reflects a deeper concern, does it not? I am thinking of the tension between trust and fear. We came into the world gasping for breath and are greeted by lights, noise, sensations that we had never experienced before. Then, there are also the early experiences of our species when we faced danger as part of daily life. This was, in Tennyson's words, "nature red in tooth and claw." We fought for our existence against natural disasters of fire, wind, earthquakes, volcanoes, floods, destruction of habitats, and strange tribes of people who battled us for resources of food, shelter, mates, and the right to trailways. This is to say nothing about the animals who wanted to eat us before we could eat them.

And have you noticed how many politicians now use the word "fight?" They thrust out their 
chests, stick out their elbows, and assure us that they will fight for us. The political arena has now become mythologized as a battleground. Apparently this works if we are to gauge success by the number of politicians who ride behind the banner of martial arms and a call to war in which the victor will be the one who fights most aggressively!

Lord, have mercy! My plea for mercy is not just for the "opponents" who will be vanquished in the would-be fight, but rather for all of us who have to listen to this ballyhoo that inflames our amygdalas with biochemical resources long evolved in our torturous history of fear and aggression.

Think of the centuries it has taken to evolve such a complex system in which the amygdala sends signals to the pituitary gland, which in turn sends signals to the adrenal gland that releases epinephrine (adrenaline) and norepinephrine (noradrenaline) which finally results in such body changes as an increase in heart rate and blood pressure making possible flight or fight. 

We give thanks for our bodies that can protect us either by running when we need to get away, or by fighting when we need to -- or want to. Clearly, we have evolved over many centuries to do battle. And, as the saying goes, if you have a hammer you likely are going to look for nails to use that hammer. In other words, if we have evolved to look for fear -- which we have -- then we are going to fear.

The problem is that we learned to fear before we learned to trust. We do better at waging wars than making peace. What politician can possibly hope to win an election on a peace platform today? So they pose as fighters and tell us about all that we most fear, rather than encourage us to consider what we can accomplish together. I say this as a veteran trained in the way of war with service in Korea as a forward observer and then Executive Officer of an artillery firing battery. So I know very well the necessity of being able to fight, because there are times when we must. There are times when we must because the forces that stoke fear and aggression and domination always stand ready to pounce, and we live in a time when some of those powers are on the move. 

However, before I leave my reference to the training provided me by the military to fight, I am glad to remember as well that I was trained not to be "trigger-happy," not to fire out of fear. We were trained to hold our fear in the trust that what we thought we feared might not be fearful at all. We were trained to trust that most people genuinely do want peace, to trust that we would accomplish more working to resolve conflicts than antagonize them, to trust the words on our one-cent piece, the lowly penny, that gives us the formula for peace.

Look at your penny if you do not believe me. On one side you will find the words, "In God We Trust," with the word LIBERTY beside the image of Lincoln. And on the other side of the penny is an image with the Lincoln Memorial, a reminder of the union for which Lincoln worked to preserve, keeping faith (trust) with our past and the dream of all we might yet become as a nation -- a legacy held "in trust" for future generations. We hold the future of our society "in trust," not in fear.

And so, I stretch out in my beach chair, shake off the sand on my flip-flops from last year's visit to the beach, and notice a poem trying to come to mind. I would love to share it with you.

                       DIMENSIONS 1973

       Once in this very world that very year
            there came a day
                 perfect in each dimension:
                     Width, Depth, Height.

       From up on the dunes,
            stalky with sea oats drooping with seed
       white sand burned, dazzling,
            shimmering endlessly to left, to right,
            burning across
                 the long white stretch to blue infinity,
       Eyes exulting in a blue complexity
            of expanding depths and heights. 
       Pure white foamed along the line
            clean from right to left
                 always right to left
            covering and being covered.
       Whiter than surf, white clouds cooled,
            billowing all over the blue heavens
                  high, higher, highest.

       Our friends laughed stepping,
            splashing in white clouds
            cooling in blue skies
                  caught in wet sand;
       And a Presence, long absent,
             moved once again on the waters.

             -- E.S. Worldrige
             Winner of Leitch Memorial Prize, 1975
             Poetry Society of Virginia

At the moment of this writing, like many of you, I am "locked in." Gradually, we are beginning to emerge from the shelter of our homes that have protected and isolated us during the pandemic of a submicroscopic enemy, the coronavirus. Hidden behind our masks and following the health officials' recommendations to maintain distance form others, wash hands frequently, and avoid touching our faces and other people, most of us have complied until the past few days. Then all hell seems to have burst into our cities with protests and rage, confronting our first-line defenders of police and fire-fighters with threatening outbursts of menacing crowds throwing rocks, breaking windows of businesses, and blocking traffic.

The inert anger building for centuries, years, months, weeks, and days erupted when a police officer in the Longfellow neighborhood of Minneapolis, Minnesota, pinned George Floyd to the ground with the officer's leg on Floyd's neck, blocking his air passage and ignoring Floyd's desperate gasps that he could not breathe. No one came to the dying man's help.

We feel overwhelmed -- all of us, but especially if we are people of color. We cannot pretend to be surprised. This has happened before.

And the tragic, scary realization that goes to our mind when we allow ourselves to think about it is this very fact: the abuse of minorities -- of all kinds -- is woven within the fabric of our society. What does this mean? What does it mean that we are in this mess? Is this our nature? What is human nature like? What is the nature of persons, of groups?

There are things we do know about this because the question of human nature has been asked in one form or another since we evolved, slithering out of the salty muck where homo sapiens originated and began to assert ourselves in Mother Nature by developing over centuries a consciousness that permits us to examine ourselves, our motives, how we differ from other animals, how we prosper, how our infants thrive to continue our evolutionary exploration not only of our planetary home but our solar system as well.

And this is what we have learned. It all begins with trust. We have been taught that by organizational psychology (Jack Gibb, Trust), psychosocial psychology (Erik Erikson, Childhood and Society), as well as psychoanalytic depth psychology (Carl Jung, Collected Works). I mention only these three names although by this time in the early twenty-first century, there are many others in a procession of teachers, researchers, parents, counselors, ministers, and clinicians who have witnessed with their own experience the truth and power of trust as the beginning point of human development, group life, and civilization's well-being.

Dr. Jack Gibb was a major figure at the National Training Laboratories in Bethel, Maine during their creative work developing team dynamics, communication in groups, T-Group methodology, and leadership development. Working during the fertile period of the mid-to-late twentieth century, Gibb consulted with many of the major corporations in the world. However, he became known as well for the application of his ground-breaking work as it applied to education, the military, religious systems, and organizational life in general. 

The simplicity and elegance of his process made group development accessible to diverse groups of people who worked with small and large groups in various settings. Basically, in lay terms, Jack Gibb stressed the four stages of a healthy group. They were:

TRUST FORMATION:  The beginning issue for all group members is the matter of inclusion. Am I safe in this group? Am I included? Do I show inclusion of others? If so, then we move more easily to the next stage.

DATA FLOW:  Group members feel free in a trusting atmosphere to share ideas, to agree and disagree, to build up the insights of everyone, to move toward a group consensus, and to resolve conflict as it arises, thus making possible the third stage.

GOAL FORMATION:  All groups exist to accomplish some goal(s). The goals are build upon a foundation of trust, and from that vantage point the group works to establish the fourth and final stage.

CONTROL:  This is the stage where everything that has gone before pays dividends culminating in the system of control that includes all the necessary data, making possible the achievement of the goal(s) projected by the group. And there is a by-product as well, which is the satisfaction and fulfillment of group members who have accomplished a worthy piece of work while establishing satisfying, meaningful relationships.

Before leaving Gibb, however, it is worthwhile to note another feature in his four-stage theory of group development. This feature is the very pragmatic one of determining where and how a group of people working together may stall in their process.

For example, if a group cannot establish the organizational control necessary to accomplish its desired aim, Gibb suggested you go back one step to consider what the goal(s) may be. Perhaps the goal is not clear or all members have not really accepted that goal.

What happens then if you determine that, in fact, some problem remains in defining the goal which needs to be shared by the group as a whole. If this is the case that the goal is either not clear or not accepted by some significant members of the group, the problem likely will be found in the previous stage of data flow.

In other words, more information needs to be uncovered. Or, perhaps, a divergent view needs to be given more consideration before the group as a whole can bring its full commitment to the formation of a goal.

But, finally, what if more data cannot be forthcoming? Are there group members who have psychologically withdrawn from the process? Are there members who are afraid to speak, either because they have been criticized or have never felt empowered to enter the "give-and-take" by which issues are aired, conflicts resolved, problems solved, and a common purpose established?

If this cannot take place, then most often it is the case that trust has given way to mistrust, or that trust development did not occur in the very early life of the group. This is the most crucial stage in any group's life, not goal-setting or goal implementation, but the establishment of trust.

My brief sketch of group life, its stages, and its underlying dynamic of trust serves as a prototype for many different kinds of groups -- as well as for our society in general, do you see? This is so fundamental for our common life, because what is a society but a composite of many groups in which people mingle, work, play, worship, create, and build structures of enduring empowerment for the good of everyone.

And it begins with trust. Trust is the great lubricant for the working engines of a democratic society. When we work at trust, we see dissolve the forces that work against our general well-being: greed, racism, empiricism, nationalism, domination, dogmatism, and egoism.

This is our human nature, to weave our lives together with the very vulnerable, thin thread of trust. In fact, when we look around, we see that the agency of trust -- its emotion, its social dynamic, its substantive reality in the lives of human beings and all animals -- this thing we call trust apparently has its being within NATURE itself. This must be why we use the evocative term "Mother Nature," that arouses within each of us the sense of protection, nurture, empowerment, and well-being.

And now, for the moment, my last question: What is trust? 

Let's hold that question until next month.

You will recognize that I have borrowed a line from the sixth chapter of the New Testament's book that carries the title, "The Revelation to John." "Revelation" is a translation of the Greek word, "apocalypse." The word means an uncovering, a revelation expressed in symbolic language dealing with a time of catastrophe and tragedy that appears as world-ending, so severe are the events.

People refer to our present coronavirus pandemic often in apocalyptic tones. This is understandable because as of this writing in the United States alone we have around 1,356,620 cases and 80,422 deaths and rising. Furthermore, we are experiencing the most severe economic downturn since the Depression, there is no assurance that the end is really in sight, most of us remain in lock-down status, there is a cantankerous debate about when we can return to work places, and we must continue to wear masks, wash hands regularly, and practice social distancing. And we endure a failure of leadership in the highest level to provide trustworthy information as well as to model and guide the public i appropriate behavior. 

As one infectious disease medical doctor said to me, it is a mess. This means we are continuing to learn new information about COVID-19 as we go along. And we go along state-by-state, county-by-county, and often city-by-city.

No wonder we linger under a cloud of heavy foreboding, and seemingly apocalyptic uncertainty. Friends, family, acquaintances, and public personalities are getting sick and dying. And yet, a prevailing mantra sounds throughout the land, "We will get through this together." Which we will.

Be of good heart! In the midst of this sorrow and death-dealing time, and in the words of the '60's still resonating in my ears, "Keep the faith"! To do that, be sure to grab hold of whatever humor you can.

Toward that end, Though you might enjoy reading this short message sent me by a care-giver who daily faces the uncertainty of our time and the anxiety of his patients. I am including his message, sent me this week, in full.  Please understand his irreverent tone as only one of his responses to the seriousness of our apocalyptic moment.

           RIDING LAWNMOWERS AND THE MEN WHO COMMANDEER THEM

Help! I am surrounded by seven very hungry, angry, obnoxious, deafening, hyperactive, abhorrent, roaring, vicious, bullying, and brainless riding lawnmowers and the men who commandeer them. And did I say relentless? Or socially insensitive? Or unbelievably clueless that there might be other people in the world who would like to sit quietly on their back decks, porches, lawns, hammocks, and beach chairs which will not see a beach and feel the warm, soothing, healing beach sand anytime in the foreseeable future?

But let me not presume to get carried away about these late 20th century machines that function as a secondary status symbol for the suburbanites whose chief marker of achievement in life was to grow the perfect, weedless, disease-less, greenest lawn as a measure of success and winner of the annual prize of first place in the neighborhood's rating of best lawns. Oh yes, such lawns command attention of the parents who ferry their children to various classes and events that will prepare the children to grow up and manicure lawns such as these!

​But, pardon me, I do digress. For I was talking about those monstrous machines and the men whose major delight in their lifeless days seems to be the moment they can hop on those sharp-toothed devils and ride off -- not into the sunset unfortunately, but beside the neighbor's house whose occupants might be trying to entertain a guest outside, perhaps even an elderly aging person whose hearing is not all that good anyway, and who had not been invited outside to talk to a live human being since the pandemic began some months ago, an age now lost in time before time itself was consumed by riding lawnmowers and the men who commandeer them. 

But another thousand apologies for my losing my train of thought. Sorry! I could not hear myself think because of the mind-controlling noise outside.

O yes, I was about to say something about those men who commandeer these strutting riding machines, all of which come in colors as loud as the noises they belch. However, as I was saying, or not saying because my train of thought continues to be interrupted by this creeping, gnawing interloper grinding up the dust beside my house, pulverizing the grass, chasing the squirrels and rabbits who still try to create their humble little habitats within the shrubs where we promised them they would always be safe -- an age long before we knew of the terror of men who seem to have nothing to do during pandemics but to jump on their riding mowers and play General Patton riding atop his M46 tank, commanding a battalion of men who also wanted to ride atop their tanks in pursuit of the enemy's tanks. 

​Ah, finally, I got back to where I was attempting to direct my attention, just before my neighbor made another swipe at my bordering yard that has not yet surrendered ! Although our cat looks at me quizzically, wondering either, "Why do you not have one of those?" or "What can you do to make them stop?"

But, as I was attempting to say before a loud noise like an explosion shook my study and I had to investigate if some plane had fallen on us out of the sky... No, I conclude, it is the neighbor behind us. He has a generator -- several, in fact, it seems -- and he was powering up for some other adventure which complements the chorus of several other riding lawnmowers in the neighborhood, which when they all get going at the same time with a cacophony of grunts, wheezes, pops, whines, grinds, and rattles would have made General Patton proud. 

There, I think I came upon what I may have been attempting to get at about men who seem to love riding their riding lawnmowers during pandemics when they cannot find other "manly" things to do. They just cannot help themselves. That is the long and short of it. If we do not have a war with tanks, if we cannot explore outer space, ride in a submarine under the ice caps, chase other cars in a circle around a race track, or pummel other men in a boxing ring -- men can claim their place in nature by subduing the lawn grass with their riding lawnmowers.

Before I forget it, however, let me put in a good word about these men. They dress up sharply in their red outfits and polish up their riding lawnmowers so they look particularly splendid in our neighborhood's annual Christmas parade, always led by a local fire truck that tests its horn at the smiling neighbors who proudly salute the passing riding lawnmowers and the men who ride them.

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Not all of us have to contend with the riding lawnmowers as does my friend. But each of us has other "monsters" with which we must deal. Remember, however, just like those riding lawnmowers and the men who commandeer them, this too shall pass! It is not a rider on a pale horse or a man on a riding lawnmower, but whatever, this too shall pass.