Blessed are you when the shock subsides,
when vaguely, you see a line appear that divides before and after.
You didn’t draw it, and can barely even make it out.
But as surely as minutes add up to hours and days,
here you are,
forced into a story you never would have written.
Blessed are you in the tender place of wonder and dread,
Wondering how to be whole when dreams have disappeared and part of you with them,
where mastery, control, determination, bootstrapping, and grit,
are consigned to the realm of before (where most of the world lives),
in the fever dream that promises infinite choices, unlimited progress, best life now.
Blessed are we in the after, loudly shouting: is there anybody here?
We hear the echo, the shuffle of feet, the murmur of others
asking the same question, together in the knowledge
that we are far beyond what we know.
Show us a glimmer of possibility in this new constraint,
that small truths will be given back to us.
We are held.
We are safe.
We are loved.
We are loved.
We are loved.
And best of all: We are not alone.
