I don’t know whether my sleep schedule is irrevocably screwed up because I took one too many late afternoon naps, because I’m not getting a consistent dose of Vitamin D by going outside, because my gym is (quite appropriately) closed, or because I’m half-deliberately channeling the spirit of our old family friend Liam, who was habitually nocturnal and also easily the weirdest person I’ve ever met (I’m sure the two facts aren’t related); but, however it came to pass that I am now normally up until 4 am, here we are.
It isn’t until the last two or three nights that I’ve tried to use this unnatural wakefulness to get anything done. Which is pretty ironic, given that it was two or three days ago that I finally bought some melatonin supplements—though I must say the actual functionality of said supplements is pretty patchy, as little sense as that makes. Then again, given that the world quit making any actual sense some time in 2017, I’m not fussed. I’ve been working on a new book (not to be confused with my other new book, which turned out to be unexpectedly timely) and writing short puff-think pieces (it’s a thing, shut up) for a job and trying to read up on leftist praxis, since the Democrats seem absolutely determined to lose to Trump again this autumn.
I’ve watched some of my parish’s liturgies. It feels a little hollow; but I haven’t been able to commune, due to not being able to confess, due to not being penitent, for a few months. And this isn’t the first time I’ve gone for a season without receiving. So the hollow feeling is familiar enough already. I think I’ve broken through to some slightly more sincere contact with God in prayer, though. I’m reviewing a manuscript for a friend of mine, and she has a very clear grasp of the goodness of God—not just the moral uprightness, which is what I was always trained to think of when I talked about goodness, but the soft, nurturing, sweet quality that simply loves the person who is there, without qualifications or demands. That’s an aspect of God I’ve always been pretty bad at perceiving or believing in: I’m always afraid that there’s a harshness somewhere concealed in it, and if I don’t brace myself for it, it’ll hurt even worse. Relaxing into the belief that God’s love does not have a catch is … difficult. It pokes a lot of sore spots in my soul. And I feel sure it’s much harder to do as a grown-up than it is as a child.
A lot of people seem to feel the need to do something useful with the coronavirus quarantine. But stopping is useful. I don’t know how common my particular form of putting up walls against God’s love is, but I do have a strong suspicion that for those of us who do that, it’s nearly impossible to break the habit without taking some time to just exist, purposelessly.
And the Grand Pause we’re in is good for a lot of other things, of course—like dispelling the capitalist myth that worth is tied to productivity, or exposing the lie that our economic system benefits the poor in any way at all (or even treats them like human beings). Point is, don’t be fooled into thinking you “have to” do something with this. It’s just time, passing like it always does. We’re being reminded that we can’t control that. And though the occasion for it may not be healthy, the reminder is.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In