Making the bed
Last night I slipped into bed enveloped in lavender spritzed Egyptian cotton sheets. I love a well made bed.
The room is dark and having a longing to see the stars I hop up pulling on my green coat - you know the one, with the belt? - and dashed down the stairs into the calle. Green coat, knickers, knee high boots and a nightgown. My neighbors, if there are any left in Venice- it seems they’ve all escaped to the mountains - surely think I am crazy. There she goes again. That American who walks her cats on leashes. I look towards the window of Barbara- the pharmacist - the one who yells “Vaffanculo” out her window when I host dinner parties even when it’s a summers eve and the sun has yet to set. Feeling the brisk air on my bare legs I walk. Invigorated. Free. My pace quickens. I forgot to bring the Autocertifico which registers where I am going and why. My permission to leave the house during life in the times of the coronaviris. If the police stop me I will tell them I needed to breathe. Just breathe. I roam the city. The only sound my feet, occasionally the murmur of tv. I’m counting lights on in houses. One Palazzo. Two Palazzo. Three. Are there so few residents in Venice? For years the population has dwindled as tourists overtook it, but amidst the noise and haste I didn’t see the emptiness. I pass the Zoppi’s. Are you home? And what about Alberto? Fabio? Fabio? Wherefore art thou Fabio? Coming home I realize I’ve gotten use to the silence. In the past I filled my head with noise. Even when not distracting myself I live near the conservatory and my days are filled with Vivaldi, Puccini, Rossini, other composers whose names end in “i”. But now in quarantine I start listening to Silence. I have a clarity of thought. When I work my concentration is short, but my days seem one long meditation. Answers come like the orgasm that won’t when you’re pushing but floods over when you stop trying. Too many people are trying. 547 emails today all seemingly responding to the coronaviris. Our knee jerk reaction is to react. But just maybe the time is not for action but to sit in the presence of the great I Am. Simply be. What lessons we learn in Being. This morning I wake. More deaths in Italy than China. They don’t think the peak will hit til midApril. This quarantine isn’t ending soon. I want to crawl in bed. But I don’t. I get up. I make the bed. And start my day.