Justice. And beauty.

Yesterday I got the vaccine. I qualified as a health care worker even though I am no longer working. I didn't qualify as a person with ALS who was hospitalized for respiratory failure. I was ecstatic, triumphant that I could wobble over there, talk when needed, follow the directions. My arm hurt. Later I listened to a smart Dharma talk by a friend who challenged the unfair distribution of vaccines; he cited Singer, who famously advocated killing disabled babies. How do we know what is just?

I'm breathing sandalwood, from the incense I lit to sit before writing, and from my wrist where I had earlier applied an intoxicating blend of rose, sandalwood and frankincense. The other day I did laundry and washed a piece of silk I have loved for many years. It shredded. Numb, I went to throw it away, then connected with the loss and the beauty of the bewildered bits.

When my daughter was very young she had an assignment to write a poem, and what she wrote was a list of flowers. I was embarrassed for her until later when an artist made me understand the beauty in naming. 

Digging through my things I discovered a poster of a human used for target practice. I had done pretty well at shooting into the heart. Up it went, right under the suggested exercises for my big balance ball. 

Sometimes we don't know how things come together. We don't know the meaning. We can't see the beauty.

We don't know what is fair in the really really bigger picture. And yet we can't help but participate. We are never outside of this thing called justice, this thing called world, this thing called love. I sit in awe and take my next breath. 

 Feb 5, 2021