The last time I was in downtown Santa Barbara, it snowed blossoms. I could not have imagined that a pandemic was about to change the world, and that soon my casual wanders into town from the northern part of the county would be poignant memories. But on this particular day, as I strolled along State Street, a warm gust of wind shook white petals from the trees and tossed them into the air, a blizzard of blossoms that circled everyone in silence and slow motion. I stopped in my tracks, enchanted. In bare branches nearby, a chorus of black crows watched. I don’t know why, but people kept hurrying along as if nothing amazing were happening, and I wanted to shout, “Look!”
That’s the way it is sometimes. It might be the quality of light, a fragment of fragrance or bird song, or a snowstorm of feathery blossoms — wonder and bliss wash over me, and my heart swells with gratitude. I call these I-love-my-life moments. They don’t last, of course, but while they do, they are a kind of enlightenment, and they are real. Even now, in this time of loss and suffering, the miracles glimmer.
Back home in Gaviota, we tend to be isolated anyway, but nowadays we’re living by even more restrictive protocols, and I am suspended in time here, trying to make sense of things. (I realize that this is a First World problem — how many of us have the luxury of pondering?) But even as my wants and furies smolder, I know I am learning patience and restraint, and I truly believe that our journeys will be clarified, and our strengths and virtues magnified in the days ahead. There are new forms of hope in the ruins. Have we ever been so aware of injustice and our duty to make amends? Have we ever been so open about expressing our love for one another?