My mind has been preoccupied with cycles as of late. Winter both wants to shove off and hang on. Sunshine breaks through and I set out the plants; a front blows through and back in they go. Winter isn’t close to being over, this cycle isn’t yet completed, but I still get ahead of myself with hope.
As much as I pine for the warm days of spring, I know I can’t have them (and wouldn’t appreciate them) without cold winters. So I busy myself with other things: planning various gardens, making lists of what I will need, buying seeds, starting (much to Husband’s dismay) a worm farm.
And always, always, there is this time when winter can’t make up its mind that I begin to get anxious because I see the spring coming but I can’t feel it yet. The cycle moves at its own pace.
And this is why I have been preoccupied with cycles. Abundance versus scarcity, happiness versus sadness, fear versus calm. All exist for every person in nearly every day sometimes even at the same time. We want to speed up and get through an uncomfortable moment and at the very same time bemoan the fact that time passes too quickly and our children have grown without our noticing. We love the idea of abundance and fill our lives with as many people, experiences, things as we can manage and still walk away feeling like nothing and no one (including ourselves) is ever enough. We get a raise, we get laid off. We are in love, we are heartbroken. We go up and we go down.
All of the world exists in cycles within cycles within cycles and we are the gamblers foolish enough to believe that every day will end up with a jackpot. The jackpot rarely comes, but it will, some day and some time, because it always has. The hope found in even the smallest of payouts is enough to keep us going.
It’s this addiction to the payout that keeps us scrolling through Facebook and news feeds looking for any kind of information that will give us the lift we want. It keeps us refreshing an email inbox looking for good news, checking our phones. It keeps me staring out the window wondering when the sun will break enough to set out the plants.
And right now, with the world gone small and the issues around it looming large and terrifying, it makes perfect sense that we are looking for some kind of positive payout, a definitive moment of yes, everything will be okay. Your world will stay unchanged.
Our emotions are hovering near the edge of every precipice. Fear is a constant presence, infiltrating even the smallest of interactions. Some of us are in a state of shock. Some of us are so hopeful it nears hysteria. I myself feel as if I am grieving. News comes and goes so fast, we all feel the perpetual ache of whiplash. (Cue the pick up of the phone to see what has changed in the last hour. Cue the national pining for everything to just be alright.)
All of it combines to create a community of extremes, where everything is both too close and too far, all talk reduced to a shout or a whisper, nothing in the middle, no hand to hold on to.
So we bury ourselves in news headlines searching for anything that will give us a lift. We scroll through Facebook looking for a meme that understands us. We binge on Netflix because the people behind the screen are a safer bet than the neighbors next door. And all the time we are waiting.
What we are all waiting for, ultimately, is the thing that will save us. The text from a loved one, the email containing a job offer. The critical piece of news confirming that, yes, we were right all along regardless of what the other side says. We desperately want that intervention from on high, the deus ex machina. We require miracles because we’ve spent so much time with our heads down pulling the lever of external hope that we’ve forgotten what it takes to save our souls.
No piece of news, no change in world events, no gift from on high will change the fact that right now in this moment many of us are more comfortable with strangers behind a screen than we are with our own neighbors. We are too afraid to talk to their own closest family members for fear of what will be said or revealed about the other — a fear that deals no more and no less with the potential loss of the other’s love. We don’t talk because we’re too afraid to see just how wide that gulf has become. And the longer we let it go, the more shit that gets thrown into it. Stories we make up about each other. Perceived slights grown to monstrous proportions. A long gone memory suddenly back and rearing its ugly head of how unfair.
All of this requires a mind firmly rooted in fiction and not at all rooted in truth. It requires an eradication of memory. You are less to me now because of the stories we have allowed ourselves to tell of each other. I fear you because I believe that you fear me.
The thing about cycles is that they do not exist without ups and downs, positives and negatives. For every summer, there is a winter. For every love gained, there is a love lost. For every birth, there is a death. The story will always end with our deaths.
Knowing the end, and knowing that it’s the same end that each of us will meet, why would we spend our final hours (because all hours are final) cloaked in rage instead of love? We are dying. Let’s make ourselves comfortable.
But, you ask, what about the people who seem to want to accelerate our death? Shouldn’t we do everything in our power to stop them?
You’ve already forgotten the end of the story. You are clinging to something that can’t be held as much as they are trying to spin the cycle in a way it won’t go. To speak with hate, with contempt, to walk through this world as if it is infinite, that your actions do nothing to end or enhance another’s suffering, is to miss the entire point of life.
You are not a body separate from the rest of the world. (How lonely a thought.) You are the body and they are the body and this world is the body. And this world, with its many cycles and it’s proclivity for balance, is nothing short of a conscious being making conscious decisions to either bring more suffering or live within the peace. Which would you like to do today?
There are people who seem committed to making more suffering. They feel the world merits this because their world feels out of balance. So be their balancing arms. Commit to make more peace. Let’s correct the story.