In Pandemic Bubble Life—lockdown, quarantine, self-isolation—the past seems illusory, the future is uncertain, and the present exists in a vacuum.

Is that really any different than Life eternal, pandemic or not?

I ponder this, because life when injured or ill exudes a similar quality: one of illusion, foggy memory, and hope for a future that may only mean more illusion and diffusion.

To be clear, these thoughts bear no sense of despair: Rather, they seek only to manage expectation and to nurture the spiritual dimension of existence. As bleak as it may sound, expectation inherently invites disappointment; attention to the spirit, however, fosters possibility and hope.

With that in mind, I acknowledge the way that I used to live, pre-arthritis, pre-near-debilitation. That recognition affords me the opportunity to consider the ways in which I  might change, the ways that I choose not to, and the ways over which I have no control.

Today, 8 days pre-surgery, I wonder about where I have been, where I will be, and if wondering makes any real difference. How does one submit to the unfolding of Life? For me, that answer has always  been to have Faith—in God, in the Universe, and in that which can never be known… until it is.

’Til tomorrow…

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