This time last year, we had just returned from Moscow. A city that seemed to have burst out of its seems with the ending of oppression. A busy, vibrant, creative hub. A place where people are forever moving, commuting and mingling. The living spaces we stayed in were small adequate warm retreats from the well trafficked cold streets. I found myself wondering what it might be like right now. We would wake in the middle of the night to the bustle in the streets below. Perhaps they are waking to an uncanny stillness this evening? We lie here discussing how grateful we feel for having had the chance to go there before all of “this”.
Our bedroom is about the size of the average apartment in Moscow. It felt indulgent this morning as I set myself up for a day of online consultations. I travelled from La Mercy to Hillcrest, as far as France. Corona is not so much the central topic of our conversations. It’s more external for now. “Out there”, rather than “in here”. A background noise like the sound of your fridge in the middle of the night. After a while you don’t even hear it, even though it continues to bother you. Regardless of country or concern, isolation brings us into clear focus of our more internal struggles. It is as if the globe just went into a self-retreat, a global noble silence. It is a time of contemplation. But, all the time, you can hear the fridge in the background if you listen close enough. Or, the ambulances in the streets of Paris as you pause between your sentences.