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March 21, 2020

24 of 47

Amid Covid, almost no one knew Thursday was the Vernal Equinox.

Early, because we need to rationalize the wobbling of the earth and its rotations – around the sun and around its axis. 3 movements that conspire to meter things that were set into motion a long, long time ago.

But we are distracted.

But none us forget our birth days, or some death days, or some just the “Before/After” days. 9/11, Trump’s presidency, the day you met or left the love of your life. Or, in my case, any future Vernal Equinox.

Three years ago, a blood tube had its 61 year old wall’s central layer’s defect fail under the pressure of the blood inside it. In my brain.

This event happened at the same year in my life as it had happened for my father 46 years earlier, where my father’s arteries split to enter each leg when I was 18. So I presume inheritance.

The blood that was no longer contained in that tube gushed out, only to be sucked back into it by the fairly focused heartbeat that 20 years of near daily workouts avails. So cells were damaged, but others were tapped to regain my balance. And in 10 days, $60,000, and lots of human love later all was the same as it was 2 weeks before.

Except I ultimately took four pills. And lost 30 pounds. And reduced that pressure, to avoid future breaks, as 72 hours of extreme analysis had shown Yale that no other place like that existed anywhere they could find.

So there was an “After”.

But Thursday was a Before/After day for everyone, too. Darker Before/Lighter After. Winter Before/Spring After. But no. We are mid Covid19 Anticipation, caused by us, to us, in the wheelhouse of hoped-for control.

We are in another Before/After.

But every New Year’s Day, or birthday, and whenever this purgatory is declared over another gateway is celebrated. Whether you care or not, the world, or about half of it, had one of those 2,000 years ago.

Something happened. The metronome on Life Then Death had a break. Of course it may be a deception, a delusion, even just a legend. No matter, the world changed. Just like my world changed three years ago.

Words like “Born Again”, “Saved” or “being washed in the Holy Spirit” are not me, I simply am what I was made. And I did not make me. All those words of transformation pivot around that Before/After. Easter at the Vernal Equinox Break is no accident. It is a hugely conspired celebration of a dark and despicable death that ceased to be the End. No matter what you know, things changed. It is what we have been given.

I say to myself “Deal With It” in most things. I did three years ago. I say it in Lent. I say it in the Coronapocalypse.

Emily Dickinson is smarter than me. Now, and probably, forever:

Than Heaven more remote,

For Heaven is the root,

But these the flitted seed.

More flown indeed

Than ones that never were,

Or those that hide, and are.

What madness, by their side,

A vision to provide

Of future days

They cannot praise.

My soul, to find them, come,

They cannot call, they’re dumb,

Nor prove, nor woo,

But that they have abode

Is absolute as God,

And instant, too.

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