welcome to 2020. we are in the midst of a pandemic since months ago, COVID-19, one of the single biggest lessons for our world across countries and continents in a long time, leading to me stumbling across the concept of carrying capacity at a biological level.
i've been working on taking more photographs of flowers this spring in balance with this health-centric situation, as i feel strongly and understand that people need to see pretty things, like freshly sky-reaching blooms, out in their world(s) on hard days with so many limitations in order to protect the most basic of safety for each of us and others. seeing what's beautiful around us helps to inspire us with hope, calm us down, and even out some of our worst-reaching emotions.
and i focus on flowers from our earth in balance of loss, too, as today, 284,883 people have died from the virus since the end of 2019 (and 80,000+ in the u.s.) when it was first detected by a doctor who was reprimanded for sharing the truth in advocating awareness, education, and caution to share with all people across our planet and within his own country, which worked diligently to take accountability after realizing how dangerous the situation truly was, and i wish i could say the same for not some but all officials in my own homeland, but many people who are intelligent, self-responsibly properly informed, cognizant, and incredibly careful are doing their best to balance out the energy, willed scope of understanding, and actions of those who are very unfortunately not.
this doctor later died from being infected by the virus from trying to save lives, in meaning well for others. here is a poem i wrote for him months ago. i cry for him every time i see a photograph of his face before he knew he was infected with the virus he identified on behalf of humanity's knowledge—and especially when i see the picture of him struggling to breathe, getting ready to lose his life in a hospital bed in the hospital where he worked tirelessly in trying to do good for others in a new, hard world, sacrificing his right to exist in doing so. please honor him by remembering him and learning from his heart.
this doctor later died from being infected by the virus from trying to save lives, in meaning well for others. here is a poem i wrote for him months ago. i cry for him every time i see a photograph of his face before he knew he was infected with the virus he identified on behalf of humanity's knowledge—and especially when i see the picture of him struggling to breathe, getting ready to lose his life in a hospital bed in the hospital where he worked tirelessly in trying to do good for others in a new, hard world, sacrificing his right to exist in doing so. please honor him by remembering him and learning from his heart.
in medical & human thought
i cry for dr. li wenliang,
my eyelids wet, becoming
cold from the sitting saline.
i drift into remembering
how he tried to do a good
thing, how being ethical put
him in danger, led him
to be targeted under law.
then, a second kind of it—
in short sets of weeks, he
had no energy to take
a razor to his cheeks,
stubble growing in while
bedridden, a mask and tubes
staying in place on his face.
and now, his lungs do not
move, like more than 500
others since december,
referred to by their bodies
instead of who they were,
a number growing with our
global, far-reaching sorrow.
i cry for dr. li wenliang,
my eyelids wet, becoming
cold from the sitting saline.
i drift into remembering
how he tried to do a good
thing, how being ethical put
him in danger, led him
to be targeted under law.
then, a second kind of it—
in short sets of weeks, he
had no energy to take
a razor to his cheeks,
stubble growing in while
bedridden, a mask and tubes
staying in place on his face.
and now, his lungs do not
move, like more than 500
others since december,
referred to by their bodies
instead of who they were,
a number growing with our
global, far-reaching sorrow.
jrh. 6 february 2020.
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