20 months ago, around the end of February 2020, my world suddenly changed. I had just enjoyed an early spring escapade on Leap Day. Renting a good lens for my camera, I captured the joviality as it danced across Dallas that Saturday, before the reality of a global pandemic would set in and create a rift in our society. It was as if there was a last hurrah, but no one was willing to admit it. There were no masks, nothing was shut down. Museums and cafes and parks were alive with activity, with only a hint that disaster was going to arrive.
The Dallas Museum of Art turned out to be hub of cultural hunger, drawing a decent pre-lunch crowd to take in a visual amuse-bouche of antiquities and modern pieces, like Ini Archibong‘s “The Oracle”. There was a beautiful assortment of paintings and sculptures, including some electricity and light.
Now that I’ve had approaching on two years to reflect on things, I think about my place in the universe. I have considered this before, but the isolation allowed me to truly focus. I have been able to be alone with my thoughts for long periods, interrupted by moments of high job-induced stress. But I also studied and contemplated. I had very little interaction with people, aside from the Zoom calls. Even office parties were virtual. All the quiet I was afforded turned out to be a gift.
I was shown some truths.
One truth was that there is not enough joy in the world. What we have instead is an abundance of suffering. We are really adept at suffering, rendering grief, and contributing to it with little effort. We oftentimes bring it upon ourselves deliberately. Suffering was now suddenly all around us, on the news and in our social media. People grieved over senseless loss. And there didn’t seem to be any end in sight. The stories in the news conveyed what we all suspected to be true: humans are capable of bringing so much pain and misery, and yet we don’t know how to control it. It is human nature to want to control everything. And when we can’t, we seek answers. And if we cannot explain it, we create mythology around it.
Instead of focusing on our tendencies toward the atrocious, or the abundant suffering in the world, I choose to bring joy as much as possible. In order to do that I must play to my strength. To that objective I employ the use of my singing voice. I am not a virtuoso, or a great solo artist. Instead I am a member of a group, where I routinely but not exclusively sing in more of a backup capacity. I do have the occasional lead role. And I believe our group brings joy to people, the few that we are able to reach. More importantly, we are not adding misery.
I also love photography. Again, I have resigned myself from the notion of becoming famous. I do enjoy some attention to my photos online, but I also appreciate the limits of that attention. Actually, most major photographers in the world are not recognized on the street, but you might have heard of them. For me, I prefer to keep photography as a hobby, to bring me joy. I did attend some seminars covering the business side of photography, and I quickly realized it was not for me. Instead I just publish my photos on Flickr. It brings some people joy, I hope. I take the same approach with gardening, and my neighbors have actually stopped to tell me how they enjoy the flowers in my front garden.
My efforts are like a candle. There’s not much light, but a single candle can make all the difference in a dark place. Years ago I attended a church that held a beautiful candle-light Easter vigil, and each face in the congregation was illuminated in the soft flickering light of a single candle. To look out over the whole congregation was truly inspiring. I like to think I could bring just a little light to the world. At least I aim to not add to the suffering. If more of us were conscientious and thought about how we could improve our world, don’t you think life would be a lot easier to deal with?
Bebop Marmaduke 