As someone who has anxiety issues, I often practice meditation as way of helping myself through a challenge. While I’ve been teaching yoga for decades; at this moment, I’m not going to suggest that you take a deep breath.
Trying to maintain my own balance, I think of it as tasting the soup; there’s a tinge of Northridge quake, a bitter note of Rodney King riots, and the bland base of the pandemic. I remember a nearby wildfire fire some years ago when I was walking on the beach, and suddenly ashes were falling from the sky like grey snow. A dusting of flaky salt.
But this moment is unique.
When I was a child on the East coast, we had a summer that was so filled with thunderstorms and electrical outages, it seemed we were living by candlelight. Hearing my parents talk about the basement flooding, the roof leaking, the water invading – I did not have any idea of what was at risk.
When my children were small, there was an evening I’ll always remember. After putting them to bed with a story, there was that awful warning sound (we all know that awful warning sound…) and a tsunami warning came on the television. I was abruptly sitting with the reality that it could all be gone in 30 minutes.
Many of us are sitting in that space now, just knowing how fragile it all is.
And yet – that tsunami never happened. The rainy summer came to an end. The scars of the quakes and the riots are still quite visible in places, but much has been mended.
Culver City is not under direct threat, and at the same time we all know people who are. Or are already dealing with damage and loss. With disaster.
Every disaster is it’s own unique moment, and it changes the flavor of all the moments that come after.
Judith Martin-Straw
