Life during Plague Time.

Life in California went topsy-turvy on Marth 19th, 2020, when Governor Gavin Newsom issued a stay at home order to protect the health and well-being of all Californians. Quite suddenly, the world shifted on its access.  The ominous sense of dread finally had a definition: Pandemic.

From the ground, there was confusion. The city shut down. Those of us who had day jobs, found ourselves confined to our houses. For me, editorial meetings and teaching yoga took place on Zoom.

As a writer, nothing changed. Before Covid-19, writing meant entering a fantasy world of my own making, and after Covid-19, my inner landscape remained exactly the same.

To write is to step into another dimension.

But the real world is something altogether different. Life got tricky. As the deaths mounted and the grim reaper laid body bags down at the steps of the capital, the highest levels of government denied reality. Toxic tribal affiliations had gripped the nation. A simmering distrust of science caused a bizarre slide into disinformation and denial of a very real virus.

As a devotee of both science and language, this has been the most disorienting aspect of Life during plague time.  The incessant questioning of reality, like a PKD novel on steroids. What was true? What was not true? Who could you believe? This was the very opposite of George Orwell’s concept of “Big Brother.” Instead of overbearing government interference, a free-for-all ensued. States and hospitals were left to fend for themselves.

The dismantling of all structures installed by the previous administration to cope with such a plague, left the USA unequipped and unguided. Even though prestigious scientists were drafted to head a task force, their advice was ignored, Press conferences were a strange mixture of information and disinformation. Eventually, scientists were muzzled, reporters were mocked and deadly advice was prescribed, like ingesting untested drugs and commercial disinfectants. The credo of “win the moment” became the ultimate tail wagging the dog.

Any decent writer has an allegiance to the truth. To build a world, you must construct it from a deep understanding of humanity. Therefore, writers who aspire to render a portrait of life, value the accurate nuances of what it means to be human. Writer’s who claim to be professional liars are only describing the most superficial level of writing. What makes language and story matter is its capacity to reveal a glimpse of truth.

Everyone who has ever read a great work of fiction knows this. We have all stopped mid-sentence in wonder and said, “Yes, this is true.” A moment of truth rocks us to the core.

And lies— enshrined by an official office and amplified by a television network— kill.

So the most painful part of life during plague time was to watch the ultimate casualty, the truth, be eviscerated and all the pain and human suffering that followed in the wake of that act.

The day the protestors stormed the streets to declare that Black Lives Matter, it seemed as if the world was teetering on the brink of destruction. As different tribes converged to exploit the protestors, as shops were looted, as citizens and police clashed in the tumult, as people were injured and died, it seemed as if we were on the brink. The world was finally sliding into the foretold “American Carnage.”

Anarchy had finally arrived.

But the protesters could not be defeated by such a lie. They rallied. They fought back. They demanded justice.

“Finally,” I thought. “Someone is fighting for the truth.”