What Happens During a Pandemic?
By Cyndi O
The intrepid heroine from Parable of the Sower, by the illustrious Octavia Butler, observes, “All that you touch, you change. All that you change, changes you. The only lasting truth is change.”
I first heard about COVID-19 in class sometime around the middle of February. We received a copy of a Department of Health and Human Services memo dated 14 February 2020:
“As you may know, there is an expanding outbreak of a severe acute respiratory illness caused by a novel coronavirus (COVID-19) that is currently centered in and is actively spreading from person-to-person in China[…] Right now the CDC and the DPBH [Department of Public and Behavioral Health] believe the immediate risk of the virus to the public in Nevada, and nationwide, continues to be low[…] […]everyone can do their part to respond to this serious public health threat.”
As it happened, we were in the middle of an instructional segment on pathologies. We discussed the development with clinical detachment, folding it into what we were already learning: the myriad forms of pathogens including bacteria, protozoa, fungi, parasites and viruses; modes of transmission including air, vectors and fomites; the difference between an epidemic and a pandemic; and long-established universal health precautions including hand washing, use of gloves, protective eyewear, and facemasks.
Over the next month, I occasionally heard a story from a friend or colleague about strange experiences in stores: one witnessed a Black Friday-style stampede when a pallet of bottled water was placed on the public floor. Another saw people checking out with shopping carts overflowing with toilet paper.
On the late afternoon of Friday, March 13, I was walking my dog when my mom called. She reported that the elementary school where she worked was closing down indefinitely and her friend was frantic: “She told me I better go to the store and stock up on food and supplies or everything will be sold out! She’s so freaked out, she’s making me freak out.” We talked about the seeming absurdity of hoarding toilet paper and making the choice to participate in the fear and chaos, or not. My perspective was that we could help our bodies stay strong and bolster our immune systems through getting extra water, extra veggies and extra sleep; by staying calm, centered and present. Stress and fear have a measurable negative effect on immune system function. We talked a bit more about how it all seemed unreal, like we were in a movie. By that time, Italy had already been shut down and many states had already declared states of emergency, with Washington leading the way back on February 29. We live just two hours away from each other, but my mom and I knew that we wouldn’t be seeing each other anytime soon. We exchanged I-love-yous and promised to keep in touch.
I learned indirectly that my place of employment had shut down and most everyone was instructed to stay home for several days. I reported to work Monday morning and proceeded with tasks I needed to accomplish in light of the shutdown. When I got the go-ahead to leave, I collected my laptop, removable hard drive and some paperwork, along with my plant, and headed back home. I have been working from home—a true gift—since March 17. I dug into the many new tasks that presented themselves as I made sure my customers were supported through the disorienting new circumstance in which we all found ourselves.
Without the time required to prepare for and commute to the office, I found my days less densely packed. I started waking up early to capitalize on that new-found time, walking with my dog each morning and meditating on love, peace, and wellness for our world. My dog and I still walk each morning. We pause along our routes so I can take pictures of whatever catches my eye—beautiful flowers, the way our shadows fall on the pavement, the patchwork of clouds in the sky— while my dog takes advantage of olfactory opportunities.
For a couple of months, my cat and dog were my only physical contact with other warm-blooded beings, and I sure appreciated their company. My classes were postponed and then moved online which left my evenings suddenly open as well. I read a lot more. I enrolled in an online class about the Wim Hof breathing method. (We could observe that COVID-19 is a respiratory illness and the interesting coincidence that Traditional Chinese Medicine says lungs hold sorrow and grief. We might acknowledge our histories of collective and individual unhealed emotional wounds. We might further acknowledge the parallel with "I Can't Breathe.") I sat on the back porch and observed the three trees in the yard transform from leafless, bare branches to an explosion of white and pink flowers and then again to thick green canopies. When the trees were all flowers, they hummed with the palpable buzz of hundreds (thousands?) of bees. It was a privilege to witness nature in action, unperturbed by what was happening in the world.
I decided to work through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. Since March 30, I have done the morning pages every day—that is, three pages of longhand writing. Much has been processed in those pages and even more by reading each weekly chapter and doing the exercises, meant to excavate unconscious beliefs and move closer to oneself. Another precious gift.
All of this I neatly categorize as Inside. With the usual busy-busy-busy of life essentially on pause, I had the time and space to gain a clearer perspective on some things, including myself. I knew from the start that I didn’t want to feed into the chaos of what was happening. I never stocked up on toilet paper and observed the weeks of empty shelves without concern. I stayed in and occasionally ordered food by delivery, rationalizing that I was kicking some business to those folks who still needed to hustle. I would be remiss not to acknowledge that my circumstance has been one of privilege: telecommuting—that I even still have a job—and self-isolating, staying a step removed from exposure. None of my friends or family have died from the virus. I feel a level of gratitude that words cannot express.
Outside, things are different. We’ve seen levels of unemployment not witnessed since the Great Depression. (We could observe the disparity and lack of viability in living wages as we witness that many folks receive more in unemployment benefits than they earned from their jobs.) We’ve seen staggering illness and death—tragedy at a level most of us have not seen in our lifetimes and hopefully won’t again. We’ve seen the further division of our communities and country as universal health precautions—wearing a mask to help stem the spread of a very real virus and frankly, an act of courtesy and respect for our fellow human beings—have been politicized and turned into a point of contention so inflammatory that we are murdering each other over it. (We could observe that this country has an ongoing gun crisis.) We’ve seen calls for justice and an end to state-sanctioned murder and institutional racism met with the mobilization of a militarized police force using deadly tactics, yet again, to silence the outcry. We’ve seen a fascinating disregard for the seriousness of the situation as large-scale events were held and schools were reopened and promptly closed again after outbreaks erupted.
One Sunday afternoon, inspired by an exercise in The Artist’s Way to recharge in nature, I ventured Outside, to the river. It was weeks into the shutdown and my first real time out of the house alone, aside from a couple stops at the grocery store. I found a quiet, secluded spot along the river, partially shaded by tall reeds. I was enjoying the sound of the water and the feel of the breeze when a man approached from behind and greeted me. I glanced at him long enough to return a quick hello and turned back to the water. Several seconds went by, long enough that I thought he had already gone, when the man said, “Sure nice and peaceful out here.” I turned again, very briefly to say, “Yep,” and returned my gaze to the water. More time passed, perhaps 10 seconds, when the man said: “Care for some company?” That was when I became alert. I turned to him deliberately and this time got a good look at him. “No. Thank you,” I said firmly and turned back to the water, although all my senses were now focused behind me, on this man who clearly couldn’t take a hint that I wanted to be alone. He walked away, finally, but I no longer felt comfortable or safe. I waited a couple minutes and then stood up to make my way back to the car. I came upon the man in a clearing where the trail widened. He was masturbating. I stepped off the trail and waded through the brush, skirting far around him with a frozen lump in my stomach. Thankfully, I made it home safely and without further incident. (We could observe that this disturbing behavior may be indicative of just how scared and lonely he was.)
The trespass shared above is concerning under normal conditions and all the more egregious considering the extraordinary circumstances. To not include this experience, to stay silent, is condoning the behavior. More broadly, we must acknowledge that we are making things harder on ourselves. In the grips of a global pandemic spurred by an invisible entity that could kill us, we ourselves insist on acting as very visible, physical threats to one another’s health and wellbeing. Friends, there is no need for that; we are all scared.
This pandemic has shined a light on fears in us all. Each of our fears is a little different, and we each deal with them differently. Yet, lashing out harms everyone involved, including the one lashing out. We don’t need to assault each other over masks, or tear down displays, or cough in infants’ faces. We can do better than that. (We could observe that each and every one of us is inextricably interconnected in this global ecosystem.) We have seen soaring numbers of virus cases and outbreaks in many states. Other nations imposed travel restrictions on US citizens because of our state of affairs. How would things be different if we chose kindness, compassion, and patience?
Still, we have much to be grateful for. The global pause resulted in amazing levels of environmental rebound. The air cleared, sea levels dropped, animals returned to former habitats. We’ve seen that our highest court is still independent, witnessed in the recent DACA and LGBTQ+ rulings. We’ve seen that people still value truth, equality, freedom, and justice and can with brave conviction come together to demand these basic human rights for those who don’t yet enjoy them- because, unequivocally, Black lives matter. (We could observe that throughout human history, if the details are stripped away, we find the dynamic of one group seeking change and progress to benefit more and another group defending a status quo that benefits only some.)
The old joke is about death and taxes, but change is the true constant. We are always living and forging history. No one has been here, in this moment, before us. Albert Einstein said, “In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” What is happening Outside has given us the chance to pause and consider what is happening Inside. We have the opportunity to go within and consciously reevaluate our personal and collective priorities. We are seeing some of the results of that now. We must move forward in brave solidarity, with fully conscious awareness, compassion, and kindness for each other. During the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020, what did you do? How did you respond- or did you react? How will you choose to live in this new world, in our new society? There is no going back, only ever forward.
Photos/Cyndi O.
Reverend Cyndi O has spent her time oriented to service. After three years in food service during high school, she joined the Air Force for eight years, serving in many countries throughout Europe, the Middle East, South America, and Asia. Since then, she has worked as a dedicated public servant in Oklahoma and Nevada libraries. Cyndi has training and education in communications applications, international relations, library and information studies, United Nations studies, teaching English as a foreign language, and healing modalities. She will continue learning and serving until her last breath.
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