I was sitting with my coffee this morning, and had taken of the shelf a red paperback edition of The Upanishads, when the neighborhood lost power, due to an ice storm somewhat north of us. Rolling blackouts. It's been cold for two days, and we're resorting to emergency procedures. Texas is not well equipped for winter conditions, if that's truly what these are. We were without light or heat for about 45 minutes, and in this time there was much pacing about, wondering what use we might make of ourselves. A fire was built out back. I walked around closing off parts of the house that were not in use. My morning workout kept me warm. But I was immediately aware of how ill prepared I am to deal with suddenly elemental conditions. I give no thought to the light in my world, but when it is taken from me, I find I have been utterly dependent on it. It has been this way for me with such luxuries, language, relationships, transportation, the technologies of communication. What a delicate and spoiled nature I have developed. I have only passing notions of the harshness of this world.
Of course the lights popped back on and the sounds of clocks and motion-sensors resetting, the heater restarting, the buzz of my speakers suddenly coursing with juice again. This modern life restored. 45 minutes. That's all it was.
And the periodic shaking of the bubble is enough to remind me that I am alive.
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