Fear has a life and force of its own and in our world, we live in a swirling storm of fear, a perpetual assault of fear and when I close my eyes to imagine it, it is not unlike those maps of Hurricane Sandy that I have already seen scores of times, without even trying to find them. Great swirling systems of fear coming our way. In our world, fear can find you anywhere, getting gas, shopping, taking a walk in the park. Fear is a booming business in the Corporate Nation.
There is media fear, medical fear, legal fear, political fear, and one of the best and most profitable of all, Disaster Fear, nothing better to drive up those Facebook Likes than an Apocalyptic Event. Everyone I talked to today spoke to me of The Storm – it was landing here, it was landing there. On this farm, Ben scrambled to close up the rotten sills on the side of the house, I rushed to paint the exposed boards of Maria’s studio. I woke up worrying about the animals. Where would I put them all, so they would have shelter from the Biblical Deluge, the Frankenstorm, the Storm of the Century, The Perfect Storm.
How are people supposed to keep their equanimity, their center in the midst of such a fearful and assaultive bombardment. What are our choices? To hole up like ostriches and ignore the worst story of the century, or to rush to the story and stockpile things that are already gone? The first text alerts – $4 a week – went off two days ago, long before I heard of Hurricane Sandy and my neighbors had cleaned out the local supermarket hot dog stash Thursday morning. Like almost everything else in America, Storm Center is a big profit center. Fear for money. The environment as perpetual disaster.
How fortunate we have the technology to frighten ourselves every minute of every day with great graphics, wrenching videos, doomsday music and loud sound effects. I remember my neighbor, a farmer at the old Bedlam Farm who came down on his tractor every day and told me one afternoon he never knew winter was dangerous until his wife bought a TV set. I hope it’s turned off now.
I went on the taxpayer funded National Weather Service Site and smiled at its primitive charting. Nothing was moving, no videos, no hyperbolic predictions of doom. No graphics. No profit. I am no weatherman, and it might be that this storm comes and washes us all into the ocean, and if so, thanks for sharing this trip with me. My hunch is that we will all be here at the end of the week fussing about the important stuff – is Simon going to kick Rocky, will Mother return, cute stories about dogs. I do hate to think of Mother out there in an awful storm, although Mother would almost surely be the last survivor if real trouble comes.
Not too long ago, we would have heard of this storm on the evening news or read about it in the evening paper a day or two before it arrived. We could take some precautions if we wished, or toughed it out. By the time this Unprecedented, Catastrophic, Multi-Billion Dollar Worst Storm In Modern History Comes – text alerts from the disaster warning site of the weather services are $4 a week and you can get a Disaster App on your Ipad for free, or for $11 on one weather channel for streaming coverage live of a catastrophic event. The cable news channels have given up attacking political figures in arguments, and gone into disaster mode, where they too will make some money frightening people half to death. I am sure there is a line between the responsible alerting of the public to trouble and the hysterical fear bombardment that will cause many people to suffer much more than the storm, but I don’t think it can be found any longer.
For me, as susceptible as anyone to the assaultive fear of the outside world, this is a call to center myself. I will check on the storm once a day, for the sake of me and my animals. I will meditate, take walks in the rain, give thanks I don’t have a TV, sit with dogs, comfort dogs, bring hay to sheep, listen to my Ipod, snuggle up with my wife, light fires, seek perspective, sit in the dark and light candles, and I will not rush to the supermarket and clean out their shelves or drag a cot into the basement with rifles and flashlights. If they want my stash of Paul Newman’s popcorn and my whole wheat muffins, they can come and get them. Supermarkets do not stock extra stuff, it costs them money, so it’s already too late for us. We will survive on Special K and Peanut Butter (organic chunky.) I can live well on the treats Maria has stashed away for the donkeys and chickens.
Oh yes, and I will blog to the last, maybe posting photos from the barn on my Ipad. There is something to be said for ignorance after all.