I feel like this lockdown has affected me more than the previous two. It's short (so we hope), but it was short notice. It’s not simply that all my plans went out the window (I’ll have plans til the day I die). But that festivities, businesses, celebrations of love were overturned once again - such a blow and we were barely back on our feet.
See, I thought I came through 2020 relatively unscathed. But even so, I think there’s a little – or a lot - of trauma in all of us, which weekends like this unlock; we don’t want to go back there.
Yesterday I ran (a half marathon, just 'cos). Today I played. Alas, not futsal, no not solitaire. Not Bach this time (can’t whip that up in a day), but Australian composer Paul Stanhope’s ‘Dawn Lament’. I last touched/thought about this piece 15 years ago, gearing up for Young Musician of the Year. Its inspired by Oodgeroo Noonuccal's poem, depicting the wailing and sorrow of indigenous Australians. A piece not entirely out of place, then, considering the loss and heartbreak in Victoria right now.
‘Lament’ is an old-fashioned word, (perhaps replaced by the narrower ‘grief’) but the last 12 months have taught me it’s an appropriate response to trauma like this. In the Christian context, lament is sitting with the discomfort of things that shouldn’t be. It’s the individual and collective crying out to God over injustice, hurt and loss; not necessarily seeking answers but comfort. Its grieving but not without hope.
Its wailing, trusting the sun will rise at dawn.
