Lynn Ungar, a San Francisco Bay Area poet wrote this encouraging poem, sent to me by my friend Gus.
Pandemic
What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath —
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely that has come clear.)
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.
Promise this world your love —
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.
by 
I love how this poem also came to me this week from another friend. It makes me feel hopeful that we may all be able to come together to share what is truly most important, our deepest, most compassionate connections to one another.
I have been feeling grateful for this pause in my usual pace of responsibilities and routines, which allows me to breathe and reflect with more ease and different perspectives. Apologies for too many words from me. Truly Lynn Ungar’s poem says it all > reach out with your heart and promise this world your love. Amen
Colette,
Wonderful that you have a pause in this tumultuous time, loved the poet’s words, and spent time reading and sharing your thought, thank you.
Roger
Lovely. I have been trying to call friends every day to check in. We need each other more than ever in the current crisis.
Giny,
May we each find our way into discipline like yours because we do need each other–a gift to receiver and giver alike.
Roger
A beautiful poem that I feel is a bit off putting in the moment of this crisis. The sentiment is easier to put into practice when one has not been devastated financially, as it is right now for millions, life in ruin for many, not knowing where the next meal will come for the children. The compassion in this poem felt self-serving. Don’t let a poem make you feel better about yourself. For those who are not impacted by this pandemic, stop writing poems about it and do something.
Jo Anne,
Thanks for your response and your point is well taken about doing something. But I also disagree with you. The compassion stirred me into even more action on behalf of those impacted by this pandemic: “devastated financially, [whose lives are] in ruin, not knowing where the next meal will come for the children.” Perhaps writing a poem inspires while the poet may also be delivering or cooking meals, actively engaged in putting the words into action. We don’t know. The poem encourages me to take seriously acts of love because when one of us suffers we all do, and each then has a responsibility to reach out and help those struggling.
Roger
Love the poem & got it from another friend this week as well!
Sue,
This poem has a “life,” a welcome link from and to many, that I wasn’t aware of, but am grateful for. Thank you for reading and commenting on her verse.
Roger
More time. More worship. Stay connected.
Cy,
Thanks for reading her words and commenting. I embrace your response! Stay safe and well,
Roger
Great Poem Doc. Sums up what we all need to remember especially NOW.
Gary,
Well said. My mini-pledge is to no longer take friendship and connections for granted, especially now but also when we get to the other side of this!
Roger.
Thank you, Roger, for this beautiful poem. It puts a new perspective on this “sheltering in place” experience that I am living. Once I mollified the anxiety of ceasing and giving up, I have begun to enjoy the stillness and feeling of connectedness. Surely, we are all in this together!
Dona,
Another tendril in the mystery of life: mollifying anxiety opens us to wonderment, the importance of letting go and embracing even as we cling and distance. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
I feel a bit helpless as I consider the words of this poem, “Give up, just for now, on trying to make the world different than it is.” My daily routine of scurrying around trying to work for change in our world and in the lives of so many desperate people has come to a halt. About two weeks ago I was visiting a fellow in a desolate motel room, a fellow I had never met, trying to persuade him to go to the emergency room to detox and from there into a rehabilitation program for his alcoholism, in order to literally save his life. These are the opportunities I thrive on, but no more. I am left to keep in contact with people in distress via the phone, and all my scurrying has come to a halt. I am left to “reach out all the tendrils of compassion that move, invisibly, where we cannot touch.” Somehow my soul is refreshed by realizing that there are people and there are times when I “cannot touch.”
Bill,
If you feel helpless I’m in stellar company. Keep visiting, knocking on doors, working for change, and [where and when you can] quelling desperation. Thank you, Bill.
Roger