These Are the Times That Try Men’s Souls

The past two weeks have been gnarly for the world. (I wish I could say it only applied to the United States, but why lie?) Since November we’ve anticipated the deluge, standing at the shoreline and watching the wave approach shore. How big is it really? How much destruction will it wreak? Will we survive? In nearly two weeks since its landing, the level of destruction has been astonishing. Not a day has gone by that I or someone in my community has not discussed the damage and what we should do. There’s a clear sense of mobility within the population, yet overwhelming uncertainty as to the direct action to be taken. This awful feeling of standing in place and like a Flintstone running your feet and going nowhere. As an artist, I feel this doubly so. My skill and craft lie in my ability to uplift through words and precise actions, not tangible lifesaving procedures like medical healing or interpreting law. Yet everywhere I turn, there are doors closing, structures being demolished, and the rubble of those once great artistic collectives being buried. We, ourselves, are the building blocks of great towers of change, but when a force so powerful and merciless, relentlessly beats down on our beings, with no respite in sight, who or what do we turn to? Hope.
People speak and dream a great deal
About better days in the future,
You see them running and chasing
After a happy, golden goal;
The world grows old and grows young again,
But man always hopes for betterment.

Hope introduces him to life,
It hovers around the merry boy,
Its magical glow tempts the youth,
It is not buried with the old man;
For, if he ends his weary course in the grave,
Even at the grace he plants—hope.

This is no empty, flattering delusion
Generated in a fool’s brain
It manifests itself loudly in our heart:
We were born for something better.
And what the inner voice says
Does not deceive the soul that hopes.

Hope
By Friedrich von Schiller

We—every single one of us on this big ball of blue--are all so clearly broken and discouraged. The tsunami has poured atop all of us, and we don’t know for how long it will keep drenching us. How many of us will be left? What will there be to work with? So many questions we don’t have answers to. All we can do is hope; hope and believe and keep going. I think moreso than being hard on our wallets, this time is going to be treacherous for our wellbeing and souls. When you’re constantly being pummeled there’s no time to decompress, refresh and reconnoiter. Living in a state of constant fight or flight prevents meaningful advancement, making our task for survival squarely centred on keeping our heads screwed on and our hearts open. It’s an extraordinarily difficult task yet our only means of survival. In a time of no leaders, we must look to our communities for direction and shelter. Humans have come close to the point of annihilation many times in our existence, and we’re still a living species because we’ve banded together and gotten the shit done when the time came. Chaos never disappears, it’s always lurking. It’s up to us to stay strong so that we may weather the storm. Hope.

Image courtesy of Unknown Artist, Montreal