BY JO ST LEON
“In a pandemic, self-isolation is called quarantine. In Buddhism, it is called retreat. From the cave of our homes, like the meditators of ancient times, we can consciously kindle the lamp of compassion and connection” — Lama Willa Miller
What a difference a label can make.
‘Quarantine’ is a chore: something we must suffer through for the greater good.
‘Retreat’ is a privilege: something we welcome and treasure for our spiritual well-being and personal growth.
Like so many others, I started out with the feeling that I just had to get through it. As the days turned into weeks, though, I began to enjoy the solitude. While I don’t think I have yet plumbed the profound inner depths of Buddhist enlightenment, I am beginning to appreciate the ‘lamp of compassion and connection’. I text a friend morning and evening to let him know I’m OK. I still reach out to two people a day, but this is not a way of relieving isolation. Rather, it is how I tell the people who matter that I care.
Many have turned to technology: house party, Zoom, watch parties – anything to keep them connected to their tribe. I have chosen a different route. With each passing day I become quieter, more self-sufficient, more content with what I have to offer myself.
Of course, this feeling of self-sufficiency isn’t real: I couldn’t do this without the people who deliver my groceries, the authors who wrote the books I am reading, the composers who wrote the music I listen to, or the loving companionship of my cats. The constant connection technology provides can be great, but it can also take us away from our inner silence, and help us to avoid ourselves.
Steph – our CutCommon editor – said of last week’s post that it felt so calm. This week’s entry probably feels even more so. Peacefulness, perhaps, is the coronavirus’ gift to me. The slowing of time, the escape from the frenetic chattering of my mind, the return to a bygone era where multi-tasking was not a thing.
In Spain and Italy, where the virus has hit so hard, they are still discovering a sense of community as they sing together, talking and playing from their balconies. The values of old. As people lose their jobs and countries lose their economies, it is hard to imagine there is anything to celebrate in all this. But maybe the lesson is to celebrate ourselves, to develop our inner strength, so that when all about us seems to be disintegrating, we have a wholeness within that serves us no matter what we may lose.
Time is a luxury that – even now – is not given to all. Those who are home-schooling their children, caring for extended families, looking after the sick, are likely enduring stress and anxiety such as they have rarely hitherto known. Their time is fully committed to serving others.
Others are creating busy-ness for themselves, because that is the only way they know how to be, the only way they can feel significant.
Surprisingly, I haven’t got the viola out of its case since isolation began. Words are more important than music for me at the moment. And there is, after all, no urgency.
The experience and the lesson is different for all of us. But however we are coping with the new reality, I think the ‘lamp of compassion and connection’ is being lit in our society. The pursuit of wealth is becoming secondary to caring and kindness.
My hope is that when all this is over, we will not go back to the old ways, but find a new way of being that embraces what we are learning.
What does this story mean to you?
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Thanks for supporting Jo St Leon as she volunteers her time for Australian arts journalism. No amount too much or little.
Jo St Leon is a Tasmanian musician and writer. Catch up on her first pandemic diary entry, After the music stopped.
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Photo by cheng feng on Unsplash
