C.S. Lewis quotes

• You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.
• We are what we believe we are.
• True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.
• Always prefer the plain direct word to the long, vague one. Don't implement promises, but keep them.
• You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.
• Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one.
• God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.
• No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.
• Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither.
• Miracles do not, in fact, break the laws of nature.
• We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive.
• I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.
• Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ, and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.
• If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.

Some reflections on C.S. Lewis

I finished Preparing for Easter by C.S. Lewis shortly after Easter, which is a book of his reflections on Christianity for each day of Lent. Lewis was a prolific writer of both children’s books and books for adults, and I was introduced to his adult books by my father, himself a prolific reader and a great fan of both Lewis and G.K. Chesterton (who wrote The Everlasting Man). Lewis was an atheist for a good portion of his life, but found his way to Christianity by reflection and reason. Or as he might have put it, he was pulled in that direction and at some point stopped resisting.

His writings appeal to me and others who have had questions about their faith, who haven’t accepted all aspects of our faith on ‘blind faith’ alone. Perhaps that makes us doubting Thomas-es, but I for one have a lot of compassion for doubting Thomas, who was a sceptic by nature. Yes, his faith was wanting when push came to shove, but life is often like that. I doubt that God loved him any less in the long run. Even Lewis suffered doubts about God’s existence when he lost his beloved wife Joy to cancer. Some of his best books come from that period and that experience; he wrote about pain, suffering, and grief in ways that you will remember long after you read his books. He never forgot to write about our humanity in our meetings with God. He understood as an academic that it was difficult to accept some of the tenets of Christian faith. So his mission was to write to help us understand them. I must admit that I use quite a bit of time to reflect upon his writings. But as he himself once said, ‘he reasoned his way to faith’. And for an atheist, that is perhaps the only way. When reason overpowers scepticism so totally, then there are no defences left to fight with.

Supalonely by Benee ft. Gus Dapperton

Loved this song from the first time I heard it.....

It's getting some airplay now during these quarantine times--Supalonely.

Pope Francis' message for Easter

I found Pope Francis' message of Easter hope to be comforting during these trying times. We need to be reminded that there is light and hope in the midst of darkness and despair. Pope Francis said that we should 'Be messengers of life in a time of death'. He is, and he can show us the way. Here is the link to the article: https://www.reuters.com/article/us-health-coronavirus-easter-pope-vigil/be-messengers-of-life-in-a-time-of-death-pope-says-on-easter-eve-idUSKCN21T0UK?il=0

It's hard to focus on life when the media are so focused on corona virus deaths. I understand that they need to present the facts, and some news channels are better at it than others, in other words, some are better at not sensationalizing everything. Each of us has an overload button that gets pushed at different times for us all. I watch what I need to watch, and no more. That's about ten to fifteen minutes of news at night. Besides those hospitalized, my heart goes out to all the doctors and nurses and EMT personnel on the front lines. They are and will forever be the heroes of this time. They are truly focused on life, on preserving life, on trying to keep their patients alive. Perhaps even if they keep one patient alive in the midst of all the death around them, that is a victory. They don't give in or give up. And that is perhaps another message for this time: 'It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness'. We can't give up. God never gives us more than we can handle. He has blessed the world with scientists who are united now in a global effort to find a vaccine for this virus. They will find one, and there will be a victory over this virus. And he has also blessed the world with those who have faith, and who pray for the world. We need both science and faith. They are not mutually exclusive.

Some humor in these corona virus times

I love the animal memes that are circulating on FB these days. Here are a couple of them that are hysterical.

Holy Week pastoral letter written by Fr. McShane of Fordham University

Fr. McShane's pastoral letter for Palm Sunday and Holy Week...…..


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Dear Members of the Fordham Community,

Peace of Christ.

Let me begin with an embarrassing confession. How embarrassing? Very embarrassing. At least for a Jesuit. Here goes. I always approach Holy Week with a mixture of eager longing and dread. There. I said it. Eager longing and dread. I know that you will say that that is a very strange combination of feelings, and I would agree. And yet. And yet, it is the awful truth. You will, of course, ask why I feel this way whenever I see Holy Week roaring toward me on the liturgical calendar.

And of course, Holy Week is closely linked by the calendar to Passover, the first night of which is celebrated on Wednesday evening. Thus, this month we have two spring observances of loss and redemption from two Religions of the Book. A symbol of the universality of faith and love.

But back to Holy Week: The truth behind the confession that I just shared with you is this: I know (and I suspect that you know it as well) that Holy Week and the Passion (the narrative that lies at its heart) are filled with shadows and wrenching emotional pivots. You know what I mean. From Palm Sunday to Spy Wednesday to Holy Thursday to Good Friday to Holy Saturday, we face and wrestle with displays of cruelty contending with tenderness, warm friendship answered by bitter betrayal, professions of undying support followed by abandonment, honesty squaring off with intrigue, hope fighting for the upper hand against despair, and love locked in (mortal) combat with deadening cynicism.

And so, I enter Holy Week with my eyes wide open, and with the understanding that once I step over its threshold on Palm Sunday, there is no turning back. It’s an all-or-nothing proposition. Therefore, I face the emotional and spiritual roller coaster that it promises with that mixture of eager longing and dread that I told you about a few minutes (or sentences) ago. I really do. You may, of course, say that having read what I just shared with you, you understand the “dread” part of my confession and then ask me how I could possibly look forward to the ordeal (and it really is an ordeal) with eager longing. The simple answer is that I can’t help myself. I just can’t. The love that stands at the center of the Passion accounts (and thus drives all of Holy Week) is so commanding, and its ultimate triumph so consoling that I can’t resist it. I simply can’t. (And I suspect that you can’t resist it either. Admit it. If I can come clean, so can you. And while we are about the work of telling the truth to one another, I should also tell you that I also look forward to Holy Week with deep, heartfelt longing because I know that although the Passion is timeless and unchanging, it surprises me every year by revealing more and more about the love that lies at its core. Therefore, to borrow a phrase from Saint Augustine, it is “ever ancient, ever new”; and I thirst for the newness that God has in store for me every year, and especially this year.)

And so, on this Palm Sunday morning, once again I will step across the threshold of Holy Week with eager longing and dread. Normally, I would enter the Week in the company of a great throng of other believers and be buoyed up, consoled, and strengthened by their faith. Normally, I would enter with holy dread holding a bit of the upper hand over eager longing. Normally I would pause before plunging into the Week to ask for the grace to walk with the Lord Jesus with unflinching courage. Normally. But this year and this Holy Week are anything but normal. We will not find ourselves in the company of large throngs. We will enter it and walk through it in a solitary way. We will all of us enter it with more longing than usual. Longing for companionship with the Lord. Longing for comfort. Longing for love. For my part, I must confess that this year I will change the prayer for grace that I normally utter on Palm Sunday morning. This year, I will pray for the grace to feel and know that the Lord is walking with me—and with all of us as we walk through our shared experience of the very real human passion/suffering that we find ourselves wrestling with.

If experience has taught me anything about what will be the highlight of this year’s Holy Week, it is this: that by the end of the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion on Good Friday, I will be exhausted. Wrung out. And as I have always done in the moments of exhaustion that follow the Good Friday liturgy and extend into the quiet of Holy Saturday, I will stand, sit, or kneel before the image of the Pieta in the thirteenth Station of the Cross in the University Church. As I do, I will hear over and over in my head the haunting words and music of the Passiontide hymn “O Sacred Head Surrounded.” In this contemplative moment, (after the semi-cinematic sweep of the events of Holy Week has passed) I will gaze at Mary, the Mother of Sorrows. I will look at her face and see there the unfathomable sorrow of a mother suffering the shock of seeing her Son die “out of order,” that is, before her. I will gaze at her hands as she cradles her Son with what one of the Advent prefaces calls “love beyond all telling.” And in that moment, I will (as I always do) see the price and yes, the triumph of the redeeming love of God, who always chooses to walk with His people and share their sufferings. This year, I will also meditate on and make my own these words that come from the Rite of Marriage in the Book of Common Prayer: “Most Gracious God, we give You thanks for Your tender love in sending Jesus Christ to come among us, to be born of a human mother, and to make the way of the cross to be the way of life.” The cost and triumph of love.

I may be wrong, but I believe (and believe with all my heart) that the Pieta is the image for this year’s Holy Week, a week during which so many of our friends will struggle with and/or die of COVID-19. Therefore, once again I hope that you will not mind if I ask a favor of you. Close your eyes. Then, see in your mind’s eye one of our sisters or brothers who is dying without the comforting presence and warm embrace of his or her family in the moment of fear or dread in which they need them most. Be present to that person. Cradle them with your prayers. Be fervent. Be bold in your prayer. Ask the Mother of Sorrows to join you as a companion in prayer. Let the power of love triumph in that moment of prayer.

Be assured of my prayers for you and all whom you love during this most solemn Week. May it be a week during which the Lord walks with you and reveals ever more fully the depth of His love for you. And for our Jewish families and loved ones celebrating the liberation from Pharaoh’s bondage, I pray that you also are liberated from fear, from illness, and from the loneliness that this pandemic spring has brought to all of us.

Prayers and blessings,
Joseph M. McShane, S.J.

For those who oppose vaccines

Pastoral message of March 29th from the President of Fordham University

This is another pastoral letter I have received from Father McShane, and as promised, I am posting it here, for comfort and inspiration. 

Dear Members of the Fordham Community, Peace of Christ. During my visits to the University Church, I have found myself irresistibly drawn to pray before stained glass windows in the east transept. I can and do stand before it for long periods of time, frequently with tears in my eyes. Understand that I have passed and looked at that window hundreds of times in the course of the twenty-three years that I have been at Fordham. And I have never had a particularly emotional reaction to it. In fact, if the truth were told, I would have to confess that my eyes--dry or otherwise--were never really drawn to it. At all. Of course, if you asked me, I could have told you who was depicted in the window. If you asked me if there was anything else interesting about it, I would probably have told you that the artist who created the window had cleverly inserted a Rembrandt Christ into the background. But I was never drawn to it. I was never drawn into it. Never. I'd walk past it without emotion. But not now. As I said, these days I can't get away from it. It draws me in with great force. And it speaks to me. You might ask what could possibly move me to tears before that window. Good question. Bear with me. The window captures a very innocent moment, the moment at which St. Aloysius Gonzaga received his First Communion from St. Charles Borromeo, the Archbishop of Milan (and a great saint in his own right). Innocent enough. But there is a story behind the young man in the window. Aloysius Gonzaga. Gonzaga. If people hear that name these days, they would most probably tell you that it brings to mind the famously successful basketball program at the Jesuit university in Spokane that bears that name. Nothing more. But there is far more to the man in the window than his connection to that perennially strong basketball team from Washington State.   Aloysius was the eldest son of the Marquis of Castiglione. Therefore, to say that he was a child of privilege would be an understatement. A vast understatement. A budding princeling, Aloysius spent his early life among the courtiers of the noble houses of Renaissance Italy (those hotbeds of ambition, corruption, intrigue and power), with a few side trips to the Hapsburg courts of Spain and Austria. Although he was destined to inherit his father's title and live a life of privilege, his head was not turned by what he saw in those settings. Far from it. In fact, he was deeply troubled by the venality and corruption he encountered in them and decided at an early age to enter the newly-founded Society of Jesus. His father was furious. Aloysius stood his ground. He renounced his titles and his inheritance and left behind him the life his father wanted for him. After he entered the Jesuits, he pursued his studies at the Roman College, where St. Robert Bellarmine was his spiritual director. When a plague broke out in Rome, like many of his young Jesuit confreres, he worked in the city's hospitals, ministering to its victims. When his superiors (for fear of incurring his father's wrath) forbade him to continue his work, he pleaded with them to allow him to continue. They relented, but with a catch. They told him that he could only work in a hospital that did not serve contagious patients. He accepted the assignment on the spot. In the course of his service, however, he cared for a patient who had, in fact, been infected with the plague and was himself infected. He died shortly thereafter.   His brethren recognized his holiness. They recognized his heroism. They recognized his goodness. They were also astounded by the magnitude of the sacrifices he had made: giving up the life of a courtier to live a life of simplicity, and giving up his life to serve the suffering. (His old spiritual director, Robert Bellarmine, a saint, a scholar, and a cardinal, was so impressed by Aloysius that he asked to be buried at his feet.) Throughout his life and in the manner of his death, then, Aloysius was a "sign of contradiction" (or a living oxymoron): he was a humble noble. Or was he all the more fascinating because he redefined nobility in terms of service? I leave it to you to draw your own conclusions.   For myself, when I go to the University Church these days, I am drawn to St. Al's window. I stand there transfixed. And these words from the Book of Sirach ring in my ears and rumble through my heart: "Let us now praise famous men and women . . . those who gave counsel by their understanding, leaders in their deliberations and learning, wise in their instruction. And ... the men and women of mercy, whose righteous deeds have not been forgotten. Their posterity will continue forever, and their glory will not be blotted out. People will declare their wisdom and the congregation will proclaim their praise." And then I think immediately of the St. Al's in our midst. I think of the men and women on the front lines in the titanic battle with COVID-19 in which the whole world is caught up. I think of the doctors, nurses, EMS workers and counsellors. I think of the parents who have put their lives on hold to watch over their children. I think of the people who labor to keep the nation and the world running. And I am rendered speechless. Absolutely speechless. I find myself inspired just thinking about them. And grateful. Speechless, inspired and grateful. All at once.   Of course, I suspect that I am not alone. I suspect that, like me, you too recognize their goodness, their heroism, and their holiness. Indeed, I suspect that, like me, you recognize their saintliness. And, I suspect that, like myself, you are ennobled by seeing and knowing them, and deeply grateful that they have, through their work shown us the holy nobility that comes from service, especially service of the poor and the most vulnerable.   And so, my dear friends, I wonder if you would mind if I asked a favor of you: could you look at their faces of these latter-day St. Al's as their stories are told not in the artistry of stained glass, but on the television news reports that we all watch with rapt attention every day. Look at them intently. As you peer into their eyes, pray for them. Pray for them. And, because this would both please them and affirm the nobility of what they are doing, pray also for those whom they are serving so selflessly during this time of trial. Be assured of my prayers for you and all whom you love as I stand before St. Al's window and contemplate the epitaph frequently used to summarize his life and the call that we have all received: Natus ad Altiora, "Born for Higher Things." For we have all been called to Higher Things. Like noble service.   Prayers and blessings,   Joseph M McShane, S.J.

Pastoral messages from the President of Fordham University

As an alumnus of Fordham University (Rose Hill Campus in the Bronx, NY), I receive emails from the President of the university, and recently, started receiving pastoral letters from him to all Fordham alumni. But also to the world at large, because his words help a lot of people. I will be posting Father Joseph McShane's pastoral letters from time to time. I find them to be comforting and inspiring in these coronavirus times. 

A Pastoral Message from Father McShane | Sunday, March 22, 2020

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By Bob Howe on March 22, 2020 University News

Dear Members of the Fordham Community,

Peace of Christ.

On the night of 11 October 1962, the day on which the Second Vatican Council began, a large (and unexpected) group of pilgrims made their way to St. Peter’s Square and gathered under Pope John XXIII’s window. Although he was caught completely by surprise by their appearance, “Good Pope John” opened his window and delivered what is now referred to as his “moonlight address,” a sort-of homily that many think was the most remarkable speech he gave in the course of his historic pontificate.

For reasons that I hope will become clear, I have found myself haunted, consoled and enriched by it as I have prayed my way through the past week. “Haunted, consoled and enriched.” Words to conjure with, to be sure. I certainly conjure with them, and they stir up strong feelings in my heart. I hope that you will find Pope John’s words to be as consoling as I do. I also hope that they will enrich you. Of course, it will take time to see if they haunt you as they have haunted me.

Looking down at the friendly crowd that filled the Square, Pope John said, “Dear sons and daughters, I feel your voices! Mine is just one lone voice, but it sums up the voice of the whole world. And here, in fact, all the world is represented tonight. We ask for a great day of peace. My own person counts for nothing—it’s a brother who speaks to you, but all together, (we) give honor to the impressions of this night, which are always our feelings, which now we express before heaven and earth: faith, hope, love, love of God, all aided along the way in the Lord’s holy peace for the work of the good. And so, let us continue to love each other, to look out for each other along the way: to welcome whoever comes close to us, and set aside whatever difficulty it might bring. When you head home, find your children. Hug and kiss your children. And when you find them with tears to dry, give them a good word. Give anyone who suffers a word of comfort. And then, all together, may we always come alive—whether to sing, to breathe, or to cry, but always full of trust in Christ, who helps us and hears us, let us continue along our path.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m no John XXIII. Far from it. He’s a saint and I’m a deeply flawed guy in a Roman collar. And yet, all week his encounter with the pilgrims under his window has framed my prayer, and his words have become more and more the substance of my prayer (and my charge) for you. Although you have not appeared under my window, you have crowded into my heart. When I close my eyes in prayer, I see you. I see you in the settings in which I have encountered you: in the plaza and elevators at Lincoln Center; on Edwards Parade and along the pathways at Rose Hill; at Convocation and at the Faculty Senate; in the cafeterias on both campuses; in the carpenter’s shop; at games and gatherings; the offices where you labor for us; at dances and awards events; and at Spring Preview and Opening Day. I see your faces. I hear your voices and accents. You crowd in on me from every side. And, as was the case in Saint Peter’s Square so many years ago, you bring the whole world to Fordham. And you fill my heart with pride.

If the truth were told, I miss you. Terribly. Achingly. But this is not about me. It’s about you. I know your goodness and generosity. Therefore, I ask you to put your generosity of heart to good use in a world that is deeply wounded at the moment. Take to heart the words of Good Pope John. No. I take that back. Let your actions be guided, inspired and driven by his words. If you do, you will be God’s missionaries to the world He loves with His whole heart, especially at this very difficult time in the history of the human family: “Continue to love each other, to look out for each other along the way, to welcome whoever comes close…when you go home, hug and kiss your children (and your parents and siblings)…And when you find them with tears to dry, give them a good word. Give anyone who suffers a word of comfort. And then, all together, may we always come alive — whether to sing, to breathe or to cry, but always full of faith in God who helps us and hears us, let us continue along our path.” May you be consoled, enriched, energized and, yes, haunted by this charge.

And so, my dear brothers and sisters, although I miss you, as we enter into a new and challenging phase of our nation’s response to the present crisis, I entrust the worlds in which you live to your care. It matters not if you are a believer or non-believer, may your homes be places of blessing for all of you. May you find solace and joy there. May you be enriched by the memories that have hallowed them over the years. Cherish your families there. May you discover God’s sustaining presence there. And may your encounters with the God of all consolation make you ever more what you are meant to be (and what I have come to know you are): lights shining forth in a world in need of comfort, hope and love.

Prayers and blessings,

Joseph M. McShane, S.J.

My office was never mine to begin with

My husband has had his own office at work for as long as I can remember—twenty-five years or more. I have never officially ‘had my own office’; it has happened that for short periods, I have not shared an office with anyone, but for as long as I can remember, I have shared my two-person work office. I have no complaints, actually. I’ve met some wonderful people who have been officemates and who have become friends. I’ve been lucky in that sense. I can’t imagine what it must be like to share an office with someone with whom you do not get along and who makes your daily life a living hell. People who are loud, arrogant, aggressive, nosy, or who don’t understand the definition of personal boundaries. People who invade your personal space when they talk AT you. Such people do not understand the definition of discussion or conversation, only what their ego-laden brains tell them is important. And of course, we all know that for those people, they are the most important people in the world. Everything of importance happens according to their timetable. It would be hell on earth to share an office with these types of people.

So I have no problem whatsoever working at home. My husband goes to his office and self-isolates there. I stay at home working and self-isolate here during these coronavirus times. This is the beginning of my third week at home full-time. The amount of work is tapering off gradually as people understand that we’re in this for the long haul. Perhaps until the end of April. So they’re stretching out the projects, which is a good idea. We’ll see what the health authorities have to say about when it will be deemed safe to go back to work. In any case, I’ve adjusted to being at home full-time. I’m a structured person, and I live my life as though I was still going to my workplace each day—get up at the same time, shower, eat breakfast, drink my coffee, and get started on my workday. I am thankful for the fact that I CAN do this. I am grateful for my job, that I am still being paid a salary, because many people in private industry have been laid off temporarily. Our leaders trust us to get our work done at home instead of goofing off. It’s a matter of trust and it’s good to know that they trust us. Grateful is the operative word. Work is getting done, even though there is less of it. I don’t mind; it gives me time to reflect and to create new strategies for future research projects. We don’t always have that time when things are at their busiest.

My Brilliant Friend is a brilliant HBO series

We're in the midst of a corona virus pandemic and lockdown, which I'm contemplating writing about at some point. I probably will in future posts; right now it feels like overload--everywhere you turn, there's more news and info about the virus. I've been trying to adjust to working at home five days a week, to going out very little except to shop for groceries and to take an occasional walk, and to stopping myself from freaking out every time I turn on the news. I do less and less of the latter, because it causes me such anxiety. All of us are watching videos about how to wash your hands properly, how to disinfect all items that come into your home, and how to practice social distancing and self-isolation. I'm not having major problems with the latter; stay home and flatten the goddamn curve. Keep the healthcare professionals healthy by doing so. Stop complaining that your life has been curtailed if you are complaining--no one wants to hear it. We're all in the same boat. And it doesn't help the rest of us who want to try to help the doctors and nurses stay well.

So, in these strange and apocalyptic times, what have I been doing for enjoyment? Once my work is done for the day, I watch the brilliant, moving, riveting Italian series on HBO--My Brilliant Friend. I wrote a long post in February 2019 about this series of four books, the Neapolitan quadrilogy, by Elena Ferrante: https://paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com/search?q=elena+ferrante . They haunt me to this day, and the HBO series will haunt me for the rest of my life--it is that perfect. Never before have I experienced a film or series that captures so perfectly the books on which they are based. I watch the series (so far books 1 and 2--My Brilliant Friend and The Story of a New Name--have been filmed) and it feels so real--this is what it must have been like to grow up in Lila and Elena's small neighbourhood in Naples in the 1950s. On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give the HBO series a 10. Like the books, it evokes something so utterly visceral and primal in me; it is phenomenally well-acted. I feel like I am right there with the characters--in their homes, on the dusty streets of the neighbourhood, at school, hanging out with friends in the neighbourhood or at the beach on Ischia, and experiencing the angst and pain of first love and rejection. All the actors and actresses are superlative; the two young girls who play the preteen Lila and Elena (Ludovica Nasti and Elisa del Genio) are incredible, as are the actresses who play the teenage Lila and Elena (Gaia Girace and Margherita Mazzucco). I cannot imagine the actresses themselves not being affected by the parts they play. It would be interesting to hear their thoughts on the series. I hope there will be a season 3 and 4 so that all the books are covered. It will only get more interesting from hereon in. I know it takes time to produce the series; season 1 came out in 2018 and season 2 in 2020; if all goes according to plan, perhaps season 3 will show up in 2022 and season 4 in 2024. I hope the current pandemic doesn't delay the filming for too long, I read yesterday that the virus is now rampaging through the south of Italy. We'll see what the future brings. In any case, I can wholeheartedly recommend this series, and the music soundtrack by Max Richter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W14_WJatKSE

What I've learned from The Day of the Triffids, The Walking Dead, and 28 Days Later

I recently finished reading The Day of the Triffids, a science-fiction novel by British author John Wyndham published in 1951, about man-made carnivorous plants-the triffids-that begin to attack humans and kill them following a night-time meteor shower that blinds those who have watched it. Up to this point, they were aggressive in the sense of being able to sting people with their poisonous stingers, but after the meteor shower, they begin to move about and to kill humans. They are mostly localized to gardens, so that it remains safe for the most part to traverse city streets, but deadly to try to enter homes and dwellings that have any sort of garden attached to them. The opening scene, where the protagonist wakes up in a hospital bed (his eyes covered in bandages after having been splashed with triffid poison) to find himself almost alone, is one that has been borrowed by zombie apocalypse shows and films such as The Walking Dead and 28 Days Later.  The book is excellent in its portrayal of how people adapt to and cope in the new world of mostly-blind people wandering about in London and the rest of England, searching for food and for people to help them. As always in these types of stories, The Walking Dead and 28 Days Later included, the threat from monstrous creatures, while real, pales in comparison to the threat from the human monsters who take advantage of the situation and who try to control others with brute force. In other words, it becomes possible to shoot, hack at, and kill the zombies and triffids, but it is more difficult to do that with other human beings, because you don't always understand their motives until it is too late. In all three of these stories (book, TV series, and film), survivors band together in the search for food and safe lodging. It is not always smart to stay put if you first have found safe lodging, because at some point you will have to go out and find food, and that puts you at risk. You learn to kill the monsters, but you don't always know when they will appear. In The Day of the Triffids, those who can see (and who have a heart) try to take care of the blind people they run across, whereas other seeing people brutally shove them aside to let them die alone. Good people versus bad people, or are the bad people just the ones who have seen the grim future and understood that mankind has to make some hard choices? But we are human, and humans have hearts and empathy, and it is not easy to root that out. You will always have 'the every man for himself' type of people, and you will also have the altruistic people who always put others first. Both are extremes, because in a time of crisis, you need to have the middle-ground people, those who can see ahead and try to plan for the grim future, at the same time as they take care of the less fortunate.

Why do I bring up these apocalyptic themes? Because it is my contention that during times of crisis, you will sort into one of three groups of people: those who poo-poo the situation, ignore the seriousness of it and go about their lives as though nothing has happened (the 'hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil' type of people); those who panic and begin to hoard foodstuffs and household products ('the every man for himself' type of people); and those who understand the gravity of the situation and who try to keep a cool head in the midst of chaos (the 'common sense-we will get through this' type of people). It is the latter group that the world needs more of. They are the people who understand that there is safety and efficiency in numbers, that our spiritual values require us to help others especially in times of crisis, and that to use reason and intelligence is necessary in order to find workable solutions that will ensure survival. I'll put my money on them any day. That much I've learned from apocalyptic literature, series, and films.

Reflections on the corona virus situation during lockdown in Norway

A lot can happen in a week, and a lot can happen overnight. We don't really consider how quickly our lives can change, until change is forced upon us. The corona virus that originated in China has managed to change the world as we know it in one fell swoop. A pandemic has been declared by the World Health Organization. China and Italy are dealing with unprecedented and overwhelming healthcare crises, as will other countries shortly; there are shortages of necessary medical equipment and corona virus tests. Global stock markets are rising and falling violently each day, and many people have already lost a lot of money. Businesses risk bankruptcy, especially those in the airline and travel industries. Small businesses will also suffer--cafes, restaurants, hair salons/barber shops, independent bookstores, you name it. People in all countries are hoarding paper products (especially toilet paper), soap products, pasta, rice, flour, and sugar. If you're reading this, please don't hoard--it's selfish and stupid, and only creates problems down the road. In Norway, we are in lockdown (https://www.newsinenglish.no/2020/03/12/norway-shuts-down-to-control-corona/ ), which means that churches have closed their doors, masses are cancelled, sports and cultural events are cancelled, schools are closed, and workers have been laid off temporarily or told to work from home. I fall into the latter group; I work at a hospital in a pathology department that has to continue functioning in order to deal with the other groups of sick people who need diagnoses in order to start treatments, e.g. cancer patients. Their lives depend upon those diagnoses. So those of us who are not doctors or nurses or clinical lab personnel are not required at work, because our presence only increases the risk of infecting the healthcare workers who need to be there. It's not a problem for me. I can work from home; most of my work is administrative at this point anyway, and can be done on my computer. I support this effort, even as I know that some people in positions like mine, do not. I've been working at home one or two days a week for what seems like forever, and I enjoy it, but that's because I am a structured person and one who does not need a lot of social interaction with colleagues.

Current estimates say that the pandemic will be at its height during the summer season, from May through August. We will see. I had already booked my flights to NY in anticipation of my longed-for annual NY vacation in August, but bought cancellation insurance this year just in case--thinking ahead. Because if the pandemic continues, I will not be allowed to travel to NY at that time, since all airports here in Europe and in the USA will be closed to international flights. I will miss not being able to travel to NY, but I understand and accept the outcome if that is to be the case. There is nothing I can do about it in any case. It's very weird, the whole thing. It's hard to describe how it feels. I guess one would have to talk to an ordinary Italian person experiencing complete lockdown, to find out how they cope with not being able to do much of anything at the present time.

We will end up longing for our previous way of life, but I don't think our way of life can ever return to what was. Our parents knew what it was like to live through WWII--they remembered the rationing, the fear, the loss of loved ones, the overall suffering. We will talk about the 2020 pandemic in much the same way--the year when the world as we know it came to a screeching halt, when globalism in its current form died, when the power of the European Union (EU) was suddenly wrested from them and returned to the countries who should rightfully have the power to decide for themselves how things are going to be in their own countries. I haven't heard many commentaries from the EU about what is going on; surprising considering how much power they have wielded over the years, even over countries that are not members of the union. I think all European countries have now understood that they have to protect their own people first against this pandemic. That is not selfish, that is smart.

Please follow the advice given to you by healthcare professionals; wash your hands, work at home if you can, practice social distancing, don't hoard, and don't plan huge parties or gatherings at this time. It's possible to rebook weddings, trips, concerts, etc. for a future time. It's possible to think ahead and to plan accordingly. It's not life as usual anymore. And if you cannot adopt these ways of doing things freely by choice, then the government will eventually ensure that you do so by forcing you to do so. Which is more preferable?

Go figure (as in, you can never predict how people will react in a crisis situation)

Ok, I just couldn't resist. I'm trying to keep a balanced view on the whole corona virus situation. On the one hand, you have those who panic and run out to the stores to hoard food and of all things, toilet paper. Hence this cartoon...….On the other hand, you have the voices of reason who encourage people to stay calm and to carry on--in other words, do so in order to get through what appears to be a crisis. We'll see what develops. If we don't take the virus seriously, we could risk overwhelmed healthcare systems like what we've seen in China and Italy. If we overreact, we will be criticized for it afterward. It's hard to be a leader or politician in times of crisis. You realize that they are only human, and that they are doing the best they can. We should try not to criticize then, at least during this period that is ahead of us.

Feeling imprisoned, feeling free

This past Monday was one of those days when I felt as though I was imprisoned and needed to get out of jail fast. It was a work day, and it wasn't as though anything negative in particular happened to get the better of me. It's just that I reached the point of having had 'enough'. Enough of emails, enough of being stuck indoors, enough of sitting in a sterile office. Enough. It was a lovely day outside, the sun was shining, and temperatures were mild, so around 3 pm I decided to walk home. I plugged in my earbuds, found my playlist of favorite songs, and walked briskly home to the music. I love those days when I can do that. Those days when my body is in sync with the music, when walking is a pleasure (no pain anywhere), when I am singing along to the songs, when my mind soars and carries me back to good times years ago when I first listened to those songs. Born to be Wild, White Room, Badge, Dreadlock Holiday, I'm Not in Love, Get Ready, Out in the Country, Easy to be Hard, Steppin' Out, Winds of Change, Fig Tree Bay, In God's Country, Dream On, Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye, and so many others. Those are just some the songs I listened to when I was writing my term paper for my college Spanish class about the poet Antonio Machado, driving along the highway in a white Trans-am with Jean, skating on the Tarrytown Lakes during winter all those years ago, sitting in my bedroom at home in Tappan Landing, playing chess with my friend's brother, getting ready to go dancing at a club in Manhattan, or talking to my sister about her boyfriend. I remember the feelings generated by those songs, and all I know is that they made me feel free, feel complete. Free to feel, free to love, free to be happy or sad, free to be myself. It sounds cliched, but it's not. It's a truly deep feeling of expansion; I think it is the soul's bid for expression in a world that drowns out all attempts at expression.  

Music transports me to those parts of my heart and soul that are often locked or at least inaccessible on a daily basis. They're hard to reach without music. It's as though the memories are always there, truly real, just waiting for the key in the door to open onto them again. It's as though they exist in a parallel time, which brings me back to one of my many reflections about time. Is it really linear? Sometimes it seems so, other times it seems as though it's circular, or curved here and there. Or that it exists in multiple places, or that time itself exists as multiple past and present moments simultaneously and that we are surrounded by that multiplicity. I don't know. No one does. But I do know that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, and music allows us to expand and soar toward that world.