coroavirusworld 91: Hope

6/22

Duck On the pond. Morningside. 

For the first time in many months, I get an iced coffee from favorite coffee shop and sit at an outdoor table in the cool of the morning to plan my week. I have missed that. The hair salon next door seems to be taking appointments

Melba's al fresco

Ready to meet the mayor

After a long hard day of writing and strategizing, I go out for my afternoon walk. As I near the corner, I see flashing lights of police cars and tv trucks. Usually a bad sign. I take breath.  The I see that Melba's,  the famed soul food restaurant has set up tables and created an alfresco restaurant that cradles the corner. It has a jaunty feel to it. AND the mayor is coming to dinner to mark the occasion.  Hope.

Walking home I’m thinking how this is going to be. We’ve gotten used to quarantine. Redrawn the boundaries of our lives. Gotten used to our cages as one of my songwriter friends will say later tonight. There’s something about this makes me nervous.  Uneasy about new options and choices to come. I’m happier cooking when I have 2-3 items given and have to figure out what to do with them than when it’s a totally open field. 

                                              Leonard Cohen "Story of Isaac"

Only Russ shows up for Bible Study tonight so  we have time to catch up. Upstate they had their first dinner party. The text tonight was to have been Genesis 21: 8-21, the binding of Isaac. I had intended to play Leoanrd Cohen;s Story of Isaac. 

It’s still such a haunting story. Many possible interpretations. We know however, that  in the Bible, Isaac never talks to Abraham again.  The story also appears in the Koran ,only with (most likely) Ismail. Ishmael.) In the Muslim story, the son knows what is going on and submits. And encourages his father to follow through.Allah relents terms of. Future greater sacrifice. Muhammad? Or?…The hors of the ram are in what becomes the kaaba. A different Islamic concept of obedience and submission is at the core here. What remains is how the story relates to our current time. Cohen’s song was clearly a Vietnam era song. We live in a country whee generations of Black children have been sacrificed , against their will, for our benefit. As Leonard sang, Just according to who’s plan?  And …you must not do it anymore…

Back to  my songwriter’s group. The continuation of Jack Hardy’s Songwriter’s Exchange.(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Hardy_(singer-songwriter))   After last week’s debacle when I completely forgot my tune. This time I’m ready. Still anxious. Always aware that many of these writers have devoted their life to this work and the event is truly about craft. Craft is work.The song has come together. It’s ready to be performed. From a scrap added  to Dylan to a song of my own, they’ve helped bring  it into being.  As I think of my song song, and Bev Grant’s go about Whose Streets and Carolanne’s song about writing and breathing,  I ponder how the events around us are dominating our writing. And why not? That’s all we talk about. I haven’t written about anything but the virus and Black Lives Matter all year. 

Most of our songs reference directly or indirectly George Floyd. I keep going over that moment, after having begged please, he calls out Mama, knowing he will die. And the knee stays. And the others stand by, casually. And he does in front  of us.  I can’t see how any truly human being can see that and not be convicted. Not know something is terribly, terribly and irrevocably wrong. That’s what’s different. And why in the short weeks, our whole self undestanding is unraveling. That maybe  something in that one word, the one cry broke through, made the crack that begins to bring the empire down. That what was there from the beginning can no longer be ignored. Hope.

The fireworks are now so loud, not only the dogs but now car alarms are bing set off.