Advent, CoVID Variants, and the Dawn of Meta (This Week's Observations)
Writers are, if nothing else, observers. It’s been some time since I’ve written on this blog, but I’ve decided to engage in a bit of a reboot. For the next few weeks, I’ll share a few short observations, things that caught my attention during the week (whether in writing, spirituality, business, art, or current affairs). If you enjoy this short series, perhaps I’ll keep it up through the new year. Feel free to drop me an e-mail to let me know your thoughts.
1. New beginnings
Monday, November 29. It’s the first day of the first week of Advent, which is to say the first week of good intentions. This Monday is much like every other Monday, except somehow more hopeful. Do you feel it?
2. Meta, eh?
This weekend, I opened Instagram and noticed where it once said “From Facebook,” it now says “From Meta.” Meta—as in the The Platform Formerly Known as Facebook. Meta—as in short for the Metaverse, which is best optimized with Meta’s Occulus Virtual Reality equipment (coming soon to a home near you). It’s only a matter of time before we’re creating realtime 3D captures of our ordinary moments and allowing followers to virtually embody those moments. But in creating artificial connectivity to repayable, archived moments, are we eroding actual human connection in the real world in realtime? Trading connection for connectivity—now that’s meta.
3. Overthrowing Paternalism
We are on the verge of another CoVID variant. This weekend, I watched an interview with the New York Times columnist David Brooks, in which Brooks intimated that if the government locked down schools, he expected “violence in the streets.” Brooks was not speaking hyperbolically. Paternalism has always been met with resistance, whether from governmental authorities, our very real fathers, or the Supreme Father who rules over all and is in all. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “And so it goes.”
A COVID Memorial
A year ago this month, the COVID lockdowns set in across America. In those 365ish days, we’ve all felt the effects—physical, mental, financial. And in this second Lent of the pandemic, the days in which a vaccine brings some shad of hope, the coronavirus from Hell continues to work us over.
John Blase, a friend and fellow writer, felt the effects of COVID last week.,He shared the news on Twitter.
My Dad died today. He was the most beautiful man I know. He died in a COVID ICU shut off from those he loved most. It’s not right. It’s just not right. My heart’s all busted up.
— JohnBlase (@johnblase) February 24, 2021
Today, John wrote a poem about his father, who was a preacher by trade. By John’s account, his dad was one of the good ones. John is not the sort to gush on about preachers, so his words are more than poignant. They are a true memorial. I hope you’ll read them.
We’re still in the woods, and stories like this one remind us. As you go about your day today, remember the many like John who’ve felt the sting of this damnable disease. And go easy.
Five Photos Proving Beauty is Bigger Than #2020
In the waning weeks of 2020, the Great White North came to visit. In my almost-southern hometown, the magnolias and bamboo bowed low, showing deference to the weight of a year. 2020: It’s been heavy.
Before the snow came, I sat in our local adoration chapel, a thin place in this world where the silence speaks. There, I reviewed the year—COVID-19; the George Floyd protests; the presidency that will not end. I offered a few prayers for peace and resolution, and as I did, other things came to mind. The grace of confirmation. The trout stream. The beauty of Amber’s tiny garden. The Farm. The anniversary. The exquisite food. There’s been enough grace to go around.
There is a temptation to treat 2020 as its own sort of hashtag, a meme of all things negative. This, I perceive, gives the darkness too much weight. We are not bamboo. The world is not snow. Beautiful things are bigger when given their proper place.
What good have you seen in 2020? Reflect on it. Steep yourself in it. There is more beauty than horror in this human life, if only we’ll slow down long enough to see it.
The Power of Silence and the Fuga Mundi
As you might know, I’ve been working on a series for my Substack paywall subscribers exploring silence through evocative photography and prose. Today, I released Silence, Episode 2. This is for paying members only, but I’m sharing an excerpt with you today. If you want to read the entire piece, subscribe here.
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9. The Fuga Mundi
In his book, The Power of Silence, Cardinal Robert Sarah describes how a cloister (perhaps even a governor-imposed cloister) provides for the fuga mundi, or the “flight from the world to find solitude and silence.” Of the fuga mundi, he writes:
“It means the end of the turmoil, the artificial lights, the sad drugs of noise and the hankering to possess more and more goods, so as to look at heaven. A man who enters the monastery seeks silence in order to find God. He wants to love God above all else, as his sole good and his only wealth.”
There have always been cloisters, places to flee from the world—monasteries, cathedrals, nature herself. I have loved these cloisters when I have chosen them. When they have chosen me, I’ve loved them less.
We are in a season of cloistering, though it might be less of a flight and more of a divine pulling from the world. Still, there is a gift waiting in the silence: The God who is our sole good, our only wealth.
Pausing for a Pandemic
First things first: I’m taking a two-week break.
Why?
There are many reasons, I suppose. First, I’d already planned to take a week for spring break. As we’ve pushed into this COVID-19 pandemic, though, I’ve realized that many of you are sensing the world’s anxiety working into your communities like leaven. Your workplaces are closing. Your houses of worship are canceling. Local markets are emptying. Writing in this milieu feels, somehow, ungenerous.
What’s more, there’s a lot of noise in both media and the digital world right now. Today, though, I made my way around town, and I sensed a sort of silence. An emptying. In this time, I want my online space to reflect this sense of silence. I want to feel it and explore it. There is something important in it, I think.
Second Things Second: Keep Up With the Community
In this time of increasing social distancing and isolation, I’ve created a sort of community hub on Substack. There, you can share your experiences, fears, or anxieties. You can also keep up with others in my little writing community, and offer your thoughts, prayers, and meditations. This won’t solve anything per se, but it is my modest effort to bring a little healing to the social distancing and isolation that accompanies it.
Peace to you, and go easy. I’ll see you in two weeks.