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New Normal Mantra

Posted on August 24, 2021August 25, 2021 by Barbara Bullard

The full moon, lit candles, and echoes of the local church bells have been my regiment, my go to amid this nightmare of COVID-19, reminding me there is a higher power. The acronym,  COVID-19, is now a part of the global psyche. It emanates trauma that seeps through the  underbelly of society, until there’s a vicious reminder on the surface. It’s the abuser that goes  unnoticed in plain sight until the perpetrator is discovered for heinous crimes. I, myself,  consistently develop mantras so as not to be blinded by the allure of its nature, the temptation  to see ourselves as being unprotected and to engage in self-destructive practices. Its gaze  penetrates every being on this planet and Mother Earth waits for us to acknowledge our part in  its existence. I’ve discovered myself in the process of purging, acknowledging, and relinquishing  my fears in the face of COVID-19. It’s ok to be alone. But are you alone? It’s ok to be confused.  But why are you confused? It’s ok to be human in an uncertain world knowing the new normal  will consistently evolve as you evolve, allowing your heart to be open to receive what’s in store. 

I’ve witnessed families united for the first time, voices heard, and relationships forged amid this  dreaded disease. Injustices across the world have become magnified and I couldn’t turn away  from the turbulence of the storm. I realized pain that was specific to each generation was being  aired for the world to see. And, further I saw that their pain was my pain, as I sit quarantined in  Bed Stuy, where we had the highest concentration of COVID. The Band-Aid was ripped off  unleashing angst of centuries and revealing deprivation, brutality, and trauma that we were  told did not exist. COVID-19 penetrated the system already raw with the memories of slavery,  racism, and poverty. I realized I am a storyteller guided by my ancestors, fearlessly breaking  down barriers and embracing my global community in its commonality. As our community’s  respiratory system is being compromised physically, it is emblematic of our mental and spiritual  compression as we scream “I Can’t Breathe”.  

Today I map my plan, mask up, six feet distance, intuition and discernment turned up as I walk  these city streets. Exiting my Brooklyn walkup, I wave at the Senior citizen diligently sweeping  the sidewalk, nod at the guys on the corner talking about current events and remind myself  that the gaze of love behind my mask will have to be enough for now. The breath behind the  mask continues to feel limiting and foreign, but I’m learning how to smile more with my eyes,  reminding me the “eyes are the window to the soul”. My hypothesis of the breath through  words, deeds, and intentions continues to unfold as I engage in this new interaction, this new  way of being. Somehow it feels that this is nothing new, but that it’s being rediscovered  through the foundations of past generations. As our heart continues to find its path to breath,  the path that’s being revealed will meet our needs to overcome obstacles. Our power is  reclaimed through our breath.  

b-bullard.com 

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