國(guó)家地理:不要讓流行病奪走我們的歡慶(4)

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Still, I long for my beloved communities, my family, the singing and sacred silence of church, the motley crowd of people who've joined us for dinner forever. I'm homesick for touch. I miss celebrations, good vibrations in the midst of grim times, and even loud celebratory noises. Loud noises scare off bad spirits. More than anything, I miss skin.

然而，我仍深切盼望著我心愛(ài)的小區(qū)、我的家人、教堂里的歌聲與神圣的寂靜，以及經(jīng)常與我們共進(jìn)晚餐的各種人群。我思念與人的接觸。我懷念各種慶?；顒?dòng)、嚴(yán)峻時(shí)期的正能量，甚至是慶祝時(shí)的喧鬧聲。巨大聲響能?chē)樑軔红`。其中我最想念的，是肌膚的觸感。

But we cannot fly anywhere or even drive to our cousin's hunting lodge or mobile home.

但我們不能飛往任何地方，甚至不能開(kāi)車(chē)去我們表親的狩獵小屋或移動(dòng)式房屋。

Left to my own devices, I am steeped in dread. But I am not left to my own devices: I have friends and an imagination. Since COVID-19, I first imagined us as our own planets. We could holy up our homes, with our cranky selves and those we're quarantined with, who can wear on our last nerve. But that was too large a canvas for me in my current condition. So I imagined my home as one of those glittery matchboxes friends have given me over the years, with Mother Mary on the cover, or Frida Kahlo, containing emblems of hope and faith: packets of healing dirt from Chimayo, an origami crane, a spray of dried bluebells, a heart.

如果放任我自行其事，我就會(huì)沉浸在恐懼中。但我并非獨(dú)自一人：我還有朋友和想象力。自COVID-19發(fā)生以來(lái)，我起初想象我們活在自己的星球。那個(gè)暴躁不安的自我，以及和我們隔離在一起、快要使我們抓狂的家人，或許可以為我們的家賦予神圣意義。不過(guò)，依我目前的狀況來(lái)看，這項(xiàng)任務(wù)太過(guò)艱難。因此，我把我家想象成多年來(lái)朋友送我的那些華麗火柴盒，里面裝著希望與信念的象征：一只紙鶴、一串干燥藍(lán)鈴花、一顆愛(ài)心。

Then I made altars around the house. Feathers to remind us of flight, weightlessness, grace. And something from the beach that has been tossed and churned, brought to beauty by turbulence.

接著我在房子各處搭起圣壇。放上羽毛，用來(lái)提醒我們飛行、輕盈、優(yōu)雅。放上來(lái)自海灘的東西，它經(jīng)過(guò)拋擲及翻攪，動(dòng)蕩造就了它的美。