Looking out my Backdoor: Re-reading the classics, irreverently yours

Occasionally I pick up one of the classics in literature for a re-reading. I don’t recall what prompted me; it wasn’t the virus. Several weeks ago, in the interests of perusing a translation I’d not read, I chose the Ignatius Bible.

The Bible is a daunting big book. I begin at the beginning. Granted, I skim the genealogies and speed through pages of dietary laws and building codes.

But otherwise, I read a few pages at a time, slowly, pondering. That Moses is quite the dude. After all he’s done, distributing plagues, parting the Sea, leading his quarrelsome kin-folks, 40 years wandering in circles, he is denied permission (by the Big Guy) to cross the river into the Promised Land.

What really struck me this time through is how human everybody is. It’s like watching a movie and you want to say to the protagonist, “Don’t open that door. Don’t open …”

Sheesh, Moses, you know you are leading a people notorious for their stubborn ways. You tell them to go left at the wall; they pull to the right. You lead them through the Red Sea on dry land and they want to go back to the fleshpots of Egypt.

“Let us cart those rocks, build those bricks,” they say. “We want to return to the terrors we know, along with the palms along the Nile, ’gators in the water, dates and olives.”

Doesn’t matter if you turn your back for 10 minutes or 40 days and nights, same spiel. “Egypt. I wanna go to Egypt. Are we there yet?”

Or, hey, Moses, I like the one where you went for a stroll up the mountain and came back to find your stubborn backsliding people feverishly worshipping a golden calf. “It was not our fault. The gold jewelry jumped out of our hands into the forge and the calf miraculously rose from the flames. Don’t blame us. You left us alone.”

We lack Moses, but, sheesh, people, do you see any parallels here?

For the first time in the history of the world, we all share a common peril. Our leaders, political and medical, say to us, “Self-isolate. Keep a social distance. Only go out for necessities.”

But how soon we tire of manna in the desert. How quickly fade our concepts of danger, to ourselves and to others. How bright the neon lights of the fleshpots of Egypt that lure us, kind of like the Vegas Strip. How loud our protestations of innocence.

How human. We tire of the walls of home, the known boundaries of our yard. Other family members bounce on our last nerve. I, even though alone, am capable of severing my own last nerve.

After all, we feel good. We are not sick nor have we been around who are ill. Surely it is safe to go to that out-of-the-way campground, that almost-deserted beach, that shopping mall for necessary items, Pinot Grigio, the latest shade of lipstick, the essential automatic weapon with ammo. And, who knows, maybe we can pick up an extra pallet of toilet paper.

Seriously? Seriously, we are tired of wandering our own confining desert. Wandering a continuous loop from living room to refrigerator to bedroom while the plague rages and ravages around us.

I don’t know. Close your eyes and think of England. Remember the blitz bombing of London during WWII. Back to the bomb shelter, stiff upper lip. Persevere.

Buck up. This plague is not forever. The life you save might be your own. Or your neighbors. Or the whole neighborhood.

We are a stubborn people. We are human. We have every weakness of every human since time began. We also have every strength.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].