Good morning, fine folk of the world. It is May the sixth and I believe we are in our sixtieth day of lockdown due to Covid-19. There have been 30,000 deaths in the UK (an inaccurate number, because of lack of testing and monitoring) - the highest in Europe, and nearly 72,000 deaths in the US. Here, in our little corner of Oxfordshire, beauty and horror co-exist. I cannot complain of much hardship where we are. We live in a beautiful, rickety old farmhouse surrounded by fields and ancient woodland, horses and sheep and pheasants. We listen to the owls at night and the peacocks calling to each other during the day. We do all the bourgeois things - buy bread from our excellent local bakery wearing our masks and gloves, online yoga, Zoom drinks with friends. We have our work and our dogs and each other. And yet, there is a hidden spectre, a dark force slipping into everything, unseen, unheard and largely undetected until it's too late. I don't sleep because I'm up at night reading the New York Times. I experience fresh outrage each day at Trump. And I think about my lovely Kundalini guru who told us years ago, when we were swooning and dancing in the era of Obama, and showing mock outrage at things that now seem so ridiculous, that we were going to face a very dark period. I was so irritated when she said this, in the middle of a floaty sat nam meditation with lovely, calming music, surrounded by beautiful yogis in their white dresses, just completely bumming out the mood - I mean we were going to stroll down Sunset Boulevard afterwards to get green juice smoothies... But, here we are, in the midst of a global pandemic that it's hard to get one's head around.
I can only tell you of my experience, and I am, I suppose one of the luckier ones. Stay well, dear people.