Coronavirus causes flu-like symptoms, can be fatal in the old and already moribund, but is experienced by most sufferers as little more than an annoyance. In other words, it's just like all the other viruses that sweep across the world in winter- and less dangerous than many.
And yet we're letting it play havoc with our lives, mess with the global economy, shut down cities, inhibit travel, cancel sporting events and even postpone the opening of the new James Bond movie.
So what's so different this time?
There was something of significance happening on the inner planes last night. It involved me having a heart to heart with my mother (only possible on the inner planes because our waking conversations consist of exchanges like "Don't forget you've got a cup of tea." "No I haven't forgotten.") There was also a lot of supernaturalism. It kicked off with me still awake or half awake and hearing someone of the older generation speak my name- as if to say, "Pay attention to what follows." I knew it had to be someone of the older generation because my mother is the only person on this side of the river who still calls me "Anthony". This person spoke so clearly I wondered if it was my mother calling me because she'd fallen out of bed or needed a tissue but it wasn't her voice. On consideration I decided it was Great Aunt Joan- who has been dead for something like thirty years.
I love Great Aunt Joan.
My memory of what transpired is now fairly muddy and confused- but what stands out is my mother saying, "I never liked you"- which I'm sure is the truth, even though her waking self might disavow it, because actions speak louder than words. I forget what I said in return, possibly "I know"- but I believe we then made our peace with one another- just as I have done (also in dreams) with my dead father. He was there, by the way, bearing witness, invisible to me but not to my mother.
"Hello, Dad," I said to the emptiness by my mother's bed. I never called him Dad when he was alive, but apparently I do so now.