My perspective from my window

Came across an article in Rice where the writer asked 10 people to share a view from a window they often look out of and what's on their mind since the introduction of Phase 2 restrictions. Apart from sharing how they pass time indoors many expressed anxieties and disappointment especially when things were beginning to look good prior to that. There is longing for home visits (for foreigners trapped here) and missing out on socialising with friends. Amidst all these you can sense a tinge of resignation with not knowing when there will be another flare up and when life can resume some normality. There is a lot of inner reflection too. 

For me I am blessed with a view that looks at my mango tree from the dining table where I usually work or do my reading. We planted this tree 2 decades ago and I have never treasured it more than the past year when cooped up at home. Nowadays when I read the newspaper with page after page of endless tragedies (Covid catastrophe in India, political violence in Myanmar and Palestine and destruction of animal life and nature from raging climate change) heaviness sets in the heart inevitably. For relief I look up at my mango tree, its refreshing green leaves spreading out from a solid brown trunk. It radiates an ambience of stability, a sense of  "suchness". 

With volunteer work and fitness classes all suspended and self isolation from hairdresser, facial/body masseur, weekly routine seems to evolve around household chores which makes them seem more monotonous and tedious. When boredom and listlessness set in, the mind reflects on life's purpose. 

In normal times, working with children and travelling add sparks to life and excite my senses. Now I ask myself while looking at the tree, 'Is life only worth living when one's senses are filled ?' 'How then will one live when age catches up, restricting physical activities and confining one to live with oneself most of the time?'

I do not yet know their answers. I go out and touch the tree, resting both hands on the trunk for awhile. Its quiet assurance gives me hope one day I will find the way.