Plague Journal, Stupefaction

March 31, 2020 Jerry King Comments 0 Comment

This morning I drove to Geneva. Before the onset of the coronavirus, I used to travel the 10 minute drive to the Starbucks at the corner of 3rd and State Street. As a matter of habit I looked forward to beginning my day with an hour of writing. I learned the names of several of the regulars, and we were becoming friends of a casual sort. That was then. Now everyone is in a self-imposed quarantine.

Inspired by the New York Times Sunday section of photos of the effects of social distancing upon public places in countries around the world, I traveled to Geneva to take some pictures. I felt it important to go the same time as my customary visitation, 7AM in the morning.

I’ll share the photos with you tomorrow. Today however, I am depressed. I am waking from the stupor of the news that a dangerous, often fatal virus has terminated social interaction, world-wide. The survival of many, many of us depends on how effective we are at slowing the transmission, and bringing to bear enough protective gear, respirators to treat those who fall ill. If we do not succeed, the future will be most grim.

Feeling as I now do, this must be the initial stage of waking, the dawn of consciousness from a stupor: intoxicated with the newness of having time to do projects that otherwise would be postponed; mesmerized by news reports, almost all speculation; holding a tight grip upon the irrational belief, (isn’t all faith divorced from reason) that, all will be well. Such elation is a ricochet of emotion from the shock of our predicament.

Nevertheless I invite you to consider a tune originally written for Three Dog Night. This song indicates how we truly come to know places, places we have never visited, in and through music. I do think that music can save our souls if we are open. What do you mean by “our souls” you reasonably might ask. Granted, that’s a figure of speech. If music or literature or sculpture, or any of the arts moves you — you know what is meant by the term, soul.

Here is Never Been to Spain, covered by Elvis, with majesty of presence, conveying in every possible way the proper love for this earth and all of it’s diverse places, and communities.

Yes, I have passed by Needles, Arizona on I40; a small town of about five thousand, probably not much there. Out-of-the-way places are not to be overlooked, are loved in their own way by those who call places like Needles Arizona, home.

So, you haven’t been to heaven? Any place can be heaven, even Oklahoma if one learns to love it.