August 28, 2021
“Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face.” ~Victor Hugo
It’s funny how a foggy day and a wretched headline can plunge a person into despair.
At least, it can plunge me into despair.
The fog wasn’t a complete surprise. Before I even got out of bed, I felt the cool air and registered the absence of the steady roar of traffic from the distant 101, indicative of coastal fog.
The headline…Cottage Hospital encourages pregnant women to get vaccinated.
I think my jaw might’ve dropped. Can they be serious?
Are all of these hospital administrators completely unaware of the deadly side effects and the number of miscarriages caused by the vaccines?
I didn’t think there was enough sand for so many people to bury their heads.
I usually wander along in my own little world, convinced that the (truth) bomb is going to drop any moment—perhaps today!—and the curtain will be brought down on the toxic absurdity of the Covid Show.
After all, it’s been more than a year and a half. Surely unbiased, factual scientific studies now far outweigh the juggled data of the so-called evidence propping up the purported efficacy of the vaccines or the disastrous “Covid mitigation measures“ foisted upon humanity.
But no. Hasn’t happened yet. The unrelenting stranglehold on truth baffles and infuriates me.
Bafflement and fury are not terribly healthy and peaceful states of being.
Someone with an activist‘s lionhearted courage would march up to the hospital’s president and thrust a sheaf of printed evidence under his nose, glaring at him till he read every word.
Or at the very least, organize a local march protesting vaccine mandates in support of the global effort on September 1.
Since those actions are completely out of character for me, I’m left not knowing quite what to do.
This is the point at which many on the spiritual path would counsel patience and prayer. I would even give that counsel to myself.
Calm down, don’t let it get to you. You’re not helping anybody by succumbing to these lower vibration emotions.
On the other hand, that same spiritual person might offer the counsel that it’s incumbent upon us to feel our emotions and express them. With circumspection, and without hurting anybody else, of course.
I’ve heard of a technique where you write down every single thing that’s troubling you and allow yourself ten minutes to fully feel the awfulness of everything on the list. Set a timer and read it aloud and enjoy a boisterous teeth-gnashing fest.
For some reason, the idea of sitting with a timer and reciting a list of everything I’m upset about is so absurd it makes me laugh.
Ah, blessed funny bone. Savior from gloom and misery. As Victor Frankl noted, “I never would have made it if I could not have laughed. It lifted me momentarily out of this horrible situation, just enough to make it livable.”
I can feel the smile still hovering. With the smile, with the momentary lightheartedness afforded by my appreciation of the absurd, the misery cannot linger.
I never quite lose sight of the awfulness pummeling the world, the horrific Afghanistan situation, the increasingly onerous restrictions and mandates that strive to oppress humans across the globe.
But none of that, or my awareness of it, can repress my God-given right to snicker when the occasion warrants it.
A lightbulb goes off. I bet the library has plenty of Marx Brothers movies in their catalog. Perhaps it’s time to load up the DVD player. Get some Milk Duds and Junior Mints to remind me of special childhood movie nights at Lafayette‘s Plaza Theater.
Fighting grimness with giggles might sound frivolous. I don’t think it’s frivolous at all. Joy, accessed through any wholesome means, is still joy. It offers the most pungent antidote imaginable to the rampaging toxicity I perceive in the world.
Groucho and Chico, Zeppo and Harpo, here I come.