I am in the self-pitying phase of novovirus. That is to say, I survived the first hellish day of too sick to raise my head, the second day of creeping about trying to keep down saltines and ginger ale, the third day of succeeding a little where day two failed, and now on day four I’m puttering about more productively, but with sinking spells. During the sinking spells I think, “So. Welcome to sixty-five. Your best days are clearly behind you. Your illness has hardly registered on the busy world. All is sludge, nothing is interesting….” And so it was in this state of acedia that I languished in my easy chair and gazed listlessly upon my beloved backyard. The brilliant cardinal did not elate me. The swaggering white-winged dove did not anger me. I shrugged at blue jay antics. Even a glimpse of gorgeous, aka brown thrasher, brought no joy. The pineapple guavas are blooming…so what? Then I noticed a feast going on. Did you know that catbirds and mockingbirds adore pineapple guava petals?
The petals are thick and sweet and my mimids are swooping on them, ripping into them, devouring them with gusto. Which roused a shred of something in me. Glorious good news, my friends: a shred of something sweet is all it takes to shift the game. I had an inspiration. After checking the internet to make sure I wasn’t about to poison myself, I eased out there and picked me a mess of petals and steeped them in my Lady Gray tea. Five minutes later, I eschewed my usual packet of sweetener. Didn’t need it.
I won’t say this cup of hot tea fixed me, but here I am, writing to you! It is Eastertide, after all, and the promise is new life, joy in the morning, all those good sweet things. For you churchly folk, a wee poem about Eastertide. I wrote it on Day Three of novovirus. Not bad for a sick church lady. Well, yes, it’s pretty bad!
The name of the recently photographed black hole is Powehi (poh-veh-hee).
This is a word from a Hawaiian chant.
It means “the adorned fathomless dark creation.”
Why do I bring this to you? Because it’s extraordinary.
Human beings at their best have come together for the sake of a vision.
They collaborated to bring together not just the day language of science,
but also the night language of reverence.
We can all find a way to practice that. For instance:
A historical chairman would be remiss
Without a systematic list
Of the traditional seasons we hold dear
The circling of the sacred year
Take for instance Eastertide
For seven Sundays we abide
Easter Sunday plus six more
Holy Spirit goes before
Leading us lest we get lost
On our way to Pentecost
For seven Sundays we review
What it means to me and you
That Jesus the anointed is alive
And in Christ’s name we ever strive
By goodness appointed and elated
By warmth and intellect animated
Anointed appointed and deeply stirred
To change ourselves for the sake of the world
Naming the seasons is not required
But who among us could ever get tired
Of church adorned in jubilation
That points to fathomless dark creation
White for hope and gold for light
The blessed day the sacred night
So as the mystery keeps its turning
Let us keep singing, let us keep learning
Let us keep praying, deep and wide
Happy happy Eastertide
Everlasting Arms 