Debra Basham

Living and Loving

Tag: virus

  • Ageless in this Moment

    This week is the anniversary of my mom’s transition. May 20 is also the date Ursel, the former owner of our home, passed, as well as the date Ursel purchased the home 33 years earlier. Both Ursel and my mom had their funeral/celebration of life on May 23. (See the Sacred Story: May 20).

    My mom passed in 2003. That was also Memorial Day weekend. No picnics, no parties, no plans this year.

    I am choosing to find ways to enjoy the moments.

    The leaves have come out this week! Scrumptius spring greens are silouetted against the sky.

    I continue to wear a mask when I go for a bike ride. I do not feel a need for a mask when I am out-of-doors doing activities on my own, but it is an important reminder.

    Yesterday I made some more no-sew masks, as it looks like social-distancing and safe-sheltering is going to be with us for a while longer. Let me know if you want a couple of easy patterns. One is made from a sock, and another is made from a sleeve. Stretchy fabrics are preferred….

    One of my mask-enhancements (inspired by a Dharma friend) is a photo of my smile! It is a black and white printer-quality paper print that I colored with crayons. Quickest teeth-whitening ever! I used clear packing tape to cover both sides and to adhere it to my sock mask.


    Ageless in this Moment Debra Basham May 22, 2020 (WC 250)
    Hiking in the western US for the first time we were
    stepping on rock beneath our feet instead of soil
    nothing seemed familiar except the sun overhead

    A small pool of water caught the sun’s light
    and I kneeled down to take a closer look
    myriad life forms were swimming together

    Precious life-giving water is at a premium here
    nature taking full advantage of resources
    as they present themselves

    This modest puddle is teeming with activity
    but I feel like a voyeur as
    I silently watch closely in awe

    Tiny minnow-like swimmers
    unnamed bugs skating on the water’s smooth surface
    a small lizard lounging

    In the distance I hear others approaching
    I notice a sudden feeling of protectiveness
    hoping those coming along will also be mindful

    A young girl—perhaps six or seven
    wordlessly asks permission to join me
    we peer together into this pool of possibility

    We both have a zillion questions but
    only our eyes give hint to the intellectual activity
    our lips remain still as we keep vigil

    She is motioned to rejoin the others
    reluctantly she leaves our shared perch
    glancing over her shoulder as she obeys

    Many times I’ve abandoned my delight
    when beckoned by some outer call
    wishing I had been able to stay where I was enjoying myself

    I am no longer I but she and all children and adults who can remain ageless in this moment in time and space if we take full advantage of the resources as they present themselves

  • Spring Snow Showers

    April…. So unstable.

    Spring snow showers visit again.

    Mourning doves puff up as they sit on the white-blanketed ground.

    Hunkered down, they seem to know this is not a time to search.

    The sun and warmth will return. Most likely, sooner rather than later.

    Another friend hospitalized with the virus.

    Some continue to wonder why this is such a big deal.

    Like the doves, I am hunkered down. I, too, have stopped searching.

    I follow my breath in daily yoga. My teacher, friend, colleague buried her husband in January. Still the snow falls.

    Song lyrics, “Why do the birds go on singing? Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?”

    But it is not.

    Spring snow showers are evidence it is spring.

    What will I remember most about this time? I will remember the precious moments of connection.

    Pimpled-faced youth, watching my masked face from behind the storm door. Setting the pizza boxes down, taking the dollars I had left in the plastic container that my favorite gum comes in. “Stay safe,” he says, walking back down the porch steps and heading to his car. I hope people are generous to him.

    We have been pizza hungry. Usually our last meal on Pine Island is a good-bye dinner at Ragged Ass with friend Nancy, who stays behind, returning to Michigan sometime around Mother’s Day.

    I carefully wrapped the left-overs in two separate packages and place them in the freezer.

    Likely, we will be hungry for pizza again before this is over.

    I hope I will remember how grateful I feel about so many things. Grateful the dishwasher now both fills and empties. Grateful the washing machine does not leak. Grateful water is no longer dripping from the bottom of the water heater.

    Soon, I hope, I will be grateful the toilet in the guest bath can be flushed without having to turn the water off down at the floor to prevent it from continuing to run.

    Already grateful for the precious commodities that get delivered to my porch. Easter dinner, daffodils, tea ordered from Target, and a sewing machine (with fabric and elastic). I will begin sewing masks.

    I may remember those who survived the virus, and individuals who did not. Both contribute to our well-being. Each is helping this virus find the sweet spot, where parasite and host co-exist.

    Meditation and prayer, yoga, chanting, writing, and ZOOMING — witnessing it all — everything helping us to find the sweet spot, where fear and frustration co-exist with hope and trust.

    Spring snow showers are short-lived….

    Many of you will find the Easter Message with Jeshua (channeled by Barbara Brodsky) uplifting, so I am sharing it with all.

  • N-95

    Sacred Stories

    A text came from a Michigan friend, also wintering in Florida. Everyone is navigating the COVID-19 pandemic.

    “BTW – Any connections locally for finding a mask for an ailing friend-of-a-friend who needs to fly home next week?”

    She asked her husband if he had seen a mask in the shed of the homeowner. He had not. Nor had she.

    “Let me ask,” she responded before quickly sending an email to one of the moderators of a Facebook page for the local community during the pandemic. Then she went out to the shed.

    There, on a hook behind a saw blade, was one single perfectly clean, unused, mask. Looking closely, this mask was the suggested rating: N-95.


    She sent a text message to the home owner, explaining the need of the mask and asking permission to pass it along. The home owner graciously said the person could have it!

    She quickly took a photo of the mask, sent it via text message to her friend who had made the request, sharing where the mask had been located so quickly.

    “Verrrry interesting,” her friend replied.

    “A SACRED STORY for sure! Please let your friend know,” she added.

    “Are you offering it?” came the inquiry.

    “OF COURSE. THIS mask is for your friend’s friend.”

  • Distinction

    Buttering my bread, I wonder if I will run out of either or both before this is over. I notice the habit pattern of the worry brain. Will John continue to have cream for his coffee?

    Being comfortable or satiated will end long before risk of malnutrition or starvation.

    Questioning the ethics of having someone deliver food to me: my desire to have my favorite tea overriding the safety or even the life of another.

    Last evening, choking on a piece of anniversary steak, not quite able to swallow (even saliva) for a few seconds, compassion for those dying from this virus without breath flooded my body.

    COVID-19.

    Tucked within all of this inconvenience is such tender truth. I am at this moment still among the more fortunate. I am not separate from anything that is happening, although I am insulated from the worst of it.

    Remembering a small book I read about the children orphaned by the bombing raids of World War II. “Someone had the idea of sending each child to bed with a piece of bread to hold. Bread, real food to hold. And they could finally sleep because they knew that they would wake up and have something to eat in the morning.” (See Sleeping with Bread: Holding What Gives You Life, by Dennis Linn.)

    Perhaps I should sleep with a favorite bag of tea.

    When I exit the master bedroom, having been on Zoom with my writing group, John has made egg salad. I say, “Oh, Honey, I wish you hadn’t used the eggs. Did you not hear me say I had found a couple cans of tuna in the cupboard?”

    “I didn’t want tuna,” he snapped. “We can get more eggs.”

    “How are we going to do that?” I ask.

    “You can call and have deliveries made. They will deliver food right to your door.”

    Whether his tone, words, or energy, I feel and inquire, “Are you annoyed with me?”

    “I am,” he admits, as he walks out of the kitchen.

    I take the lump in my throat back with me to the master bedroom where my laptop is and I put my fingers on the keyboard.

    Breathe….

    Earlier this morning I had a phone conversation about the ethics of going to the bank to make a deposit. It is a rather large check. It felt safer to do what was familiar: to go to the bank. Safer for all sentient beings?

    Whose lives are put on the line to deliver our eggs to the grocery store, to move them from the grocery store to the people who order them from their safe shelter?

    I feel that familiar tension—sadness— of sharing life with those who view the world so differently. I am so mad at him for his self-centered world view. It frightens me. In that feeling, I gently witness the sense of “selfing” I have created again.

    No individual “I” is separate, neither are “mine” exempt.

    The pandemic will end more easily as I see the truth about this distinction….

  • We Are What We Think

    It is surreal that I posted my previous blog just yesterday. I did say this self-selected social isolation may not last forever, it may just feel that way.

    Actually, I don’t really mind the solitude. Last evening Barbara Brodsky asked our Dharma Path group to notice how very little is different about this from retreat, which we all love.

    Well, one difference is that on retreat we have no news.

    The Awakened Heart group was asked to ponder these points:

    1. Please reflect on some ways you are able to ground yourselves in Love even with the fears and other emotions brought forth by Covid-19.

    2. How can we each become a true power of Love in our present world, offering the expressions of Love to help release suffering?

    3. “We are what we think; with our thoughts we make the world.” (Dhammapada)

    4. What if the whole world were to shift from negative, fear-based thoughts about this virus, into a strong, clear compassion?

    5. How does our practice help?

    6. How to we practice with fear and anxiety?

    Aaron says a high vibration makes your energy field like Teflon, so the virus is unable to stick.

    People Quarantined in Italy Join Together In Song From Balconies During Coronavirus Lockdown.


    In California they are calling it “safe sheltering.” One friend said they scheduled a noon concert on their street. They arranged a playlist and everyone came out on their porches and played their instruments.

    I am going to suggest virtual playing of “Farkle/10,000” with friends Linda and Larry. We can each have our set of five dice and we can be on FaceTime or Zoom for the game. Like safe sex, it is a game where everyone wins….

    We are what we think. With out minds we make the world.

    Let’s get creative to see how many ways you can find to keep joy and fun and lightheartedness alive to balance the inconvenience and fear.