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The Chillest Land, The Strangest Sea

The Chillest Land, The Strangest Sea
stormy-waters

Well, here we are, folks…

Just kidding, but I do not apologize for any Good Omens references because honestly it’s just too perfect not to use.

If you follow our blog posts, I bet you’ve caught on to the pattern by now. We’re all talking about the same thing because so is everyone else in the world. Okay, that’s a generalization, but honestly we’re living in such a specific historical moment that it does seem impossible to take any media out of context. Nobody is not referencing Covid-19 right now because…obviously. Pardon the double negative, but I think this is a double negative situation.

I personally have a lot of thoughts about The Situation TM, but I cannot have a conversation about it without talking about how irreversible it all feels. Where I’m at right now, this feels like it’s going to be the forever. Whenever I talk to my friends about the current crisis or new normal or global pandemic or whatever the fun new title of the day is, we inevitably get around to the topic of how we’re tired of living through things that will be put in history books. I mean, it was bad enough in 2016…there’s no need to get into that…but then there’s a global disease pandemic?! This was not in my contract. I would like a refund please. May I speak to the virus’s manager? From a safe 6 foot distance, of course.

I’m 23, so people keep telling me that when I (and the rest of my generation) get older, I’m going to have stories to tell future generations. You know, the “When I was younger people used to hoard toilet paper” and “When I was younger many, many people died because of a dangerous virus but somehow other people still managed to think the whole thing was fake.” And, yeah, having stories for future generations. Neat. But it’s hard for me to think that far in the future on a good day, even before the pandemic.

I left Colorado when this whole thing started getting more serious and I’m living with my parents in Florida. Until Mother’s Day I hadn’t been outside of our house and yard area since March. MARCH. It is currently May, people, that’s over a month.

Here we see actual footage of me walking back into the world from the flaming wasteland of my isolated mind and seeing that it is in fact devoid of human life, I have been gone too long, the storm clouds are approaching and all is dust and bones.

ANYWAY…I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all doing just fine. I really am one of the lucky ones in this whole thing, my parents have a beautiful house in a beautiful area with excellent birds. My biggest challenge is fighting with my own brain, but what else is new?

I’ll leave you with Emily Dickinson. I have always had a sort of interesting relationship with this poem. The imagery is beautiful, and the message is worthy, but sometimes it’s difficult for me to approach the energy of hope as something genuine rather than something forced. I don’t know why, maybe just because it’s a difficult thing to keep hold of sometimes.

 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

 

 And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet – never – in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of me.

 

 -Emily Dickinson

 

 

Olivia Allen
Olivia is a creative human who writes for IDEAS and reads too many books. Got an idea for a guest blog? Contact me at oallen@ideasorlando.com