pandemic

/ Susan Romanenghi / 2 Comments

What Is The Sound Of One Hand Clapping?

Is the above sculpture a Zen koan? 

I encountered this piece of public art near Puget Sound in West Seattle on a hot summer day in 2020.  The koan “What Is The Sound of One Hand Clapping?” rose in my thoughts. 

Koans are meant to bewilder, to provoke what Zen Buddhists call the “great doubt.” 

Could things be any more bewildering than the Summer of 2020?  A time capsule of our uncertain times:

  • We have a global pandemic
  • The tragedy of George Floyd’s death and its global repercussions
  • Protests and riots across the country
  • Fires raging across the West Coast

What do the above events have in common with Zen koans?  From what I have read, koans are meant to free one from the constraints of rational thought, by offering something different from formal logic. 

Formal logic?  How to explain anything? I thought the day I encountered the sculpture. 

And then I looked beyond it, to Puget Sound.  I was surprised and cheered by the sight of a few bold souls who braved the chilly salt water inlet with its sharp rocks and sea lions. 

Perhaps the sound of one hand clapping is the point beyond which speech exhausts itself.  The point where we know when the world is too much with us and we try something new.

I vowed that I, too, would plunge into the chilly water.  I returned the next day in my swimsuit and watershoes.

Be the water, I gasped.  It was exhilarating!

Stay tuned for the Summer of 2021 — I hope to be taking more dips in Puget Sound.

And may the planet be at peace!

It’s All Funny in 2020

/ Susan Romanenghi / Leave a comment

CoronaVintageShipPic

In 1908 in Seattle, a ship called “Corona” launched from downtown Seattle to West Seattle with a full deck of passengers. You can faintly make out “Corona” on the front of this ship which was one among others in the Mosquito Fleet.

The Mosquito Fleet ships were so nicknamed because they were small and quick, flitting from one side of the sound to the other.

While I never sailed on this ghost of the past, I did have a mosquito commute to work on the Sightseer which was pleasant.

AdmiralPeteOriginal

It took only 12 minutes to cross to downtown Seattle and was far preferable to 40-minute bus and car commutes on the West Seattle Bridge.   Less gridlock, less carbon footprints.

Before the Sightseer, I commuted on the Admiral Pete.  Pete was much smaller than the Sightseer.  He was the first water taxi when Seattle re-launched service in 1999.  I used to sit on an open seat in the back and feel the water’s spray against my skin.

But in 2020, things aren’t funny.  We are in lockdown now, with cities across the world in the same situation.

The haunting image of the Italian balcony singers of our Corona days presses me to get outdoors as often as possible.

My husband and I ventured out for a walk to Elliott Bay.  With Purell in our pockets and donning our disposable gloves, we visited the dock where the water taxis moor.

A water taxi was pulling in.   I was curious as to ridership these days, and so I spoke to the ticket taker.  Ridership is down 90%, he said, even though King County is offering rides for free.

Social distancing on the water taxi?  Of course, what was I thinking?  This is the new normal.  It just takes so dang long for me to wrap my mind around it all.

But wait, there’s more!  A few weeks ago, the City of Seattle decided to shut down the West Seattle Bridge for repairs.  There is no timeline for even temporary repairs.  We are in a pandemic and the most heavily trafficked bridge in Seattle is closed?  People are finding alternate routes, adding more time and requiring more patience, as they attempt to get to appointments, buy essentials.

I’d like to say things are funny in 2020.  I’d like to say “bring on the mosquito fleet” so we could all feel salt breezes and avoid gridlock on bridges.

Though I will never feel nostalgic for gridlock, I am nostalgic for mosquito fleets.  But also for bridges — which, after all, were first developed by the ancient Romans.