THE LATHE OF PORTLAND, by Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer

It started with the conference. I didn’t want to go. I’m an introvert, you see, and crowds of people make me anxious. Flying makes me anxious. Public speaking makes me anxious. Though I’d been excited when I signed up for the big writers’ convention, now that it was looming ahead of me, I was scared spitless.

That night I went to sleep and had crazy dreams. The next morning, I woke to headlines about a novel coronavirus that was spreading around the world. This was February, 2020.

After the initial shock of the “shelter in place” and “stay home” orders sank in, I found myself embracing this new normal. I was told by scientists not to mingle with others. Staying home was alright by me.

The planes stopped flying and all conferences were canceled, including mine. Okay, now I didn’t have to go. I didn’t have to be faced with my people anxiety. The hotel was refunding my money. I was okay with it.

But after a month or so, even I was getting bored with the isolation. I wished something would happen to take our minds off of the virus and its deadly threat. I went to bed and had crazy dreams.

Something terrible had happened! A young black man was murdered by police, and the whole thing was caught on tape. I cried as I watched, never having seen anyone killed before. I was not the only one. Suddenly the virus took a back seat in the news: Black Lives Matter became the headline of the day.

That night I fell asleep hoping something could be done about the injustice. The next morning brought riots in the streets.

There seemed to be three factors: peaceful protesters, rioters, and hooligans. For one hundred nights they kept it up. Peaceful factions were the majority, but it was those to whom peace was not the answer who made the front page. They drove their mobs into residential streets, doing damage and scaring families. They were in my neighborhood, and I hated it.

During these months of unrest, very little had progressed in the way of negotiation between the police and the protesters, and it looked like they’d hit an impasse. Fuming as I fell asleep, I wondered what it would take to get them to stop?

The next day a militia of armed opposition rolled into town.

No good would come of this, I told myself. Sure enough, somebody shot somebody, then somebody shot them back. Was Portland on the brink of war?

Something had to change, but I was damned if I knew what it was. After all, I was still hunkered in my house trying to avoid a pandemic plague. There was nothing I could do besides feel helpless rage spark inside of me., ready to burst into flame.

That night my dreams were crazier than ever. When I woke, the world was on fire.

Well, not the whole world; only my left coast edge. Wildfires raged through California and up into Oregon. They moved fast, pressed by high, dry winds. Fire weather, my grandmother would have called it, but never had the scorching come so close to my town.

People were evacuated; people lost their homes.  Some even lost their lives. The smoke got so bad that suddenly Portland was the most polluted city in the world. The sky was orange, apocalyptic. Though already encouraged to stay home, now we were to also stay inside. Even that was not enough. Masks and air filters couldn’t keep out the insidious smog that crept in everywhere.

Today the smoke is a bit better and the fires are partly contained. The forecast is for rain which will help clear the air.

Then what?

I dare not dream…

 

No, I don’t consider myself responsible for all that happened in fateful 2020, but hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that you really might be living in the Matrix after all?

 

My most humble acknowledgment of Ursula K. Le Guin’s masterpiece, The Lathe of Heaven, about a man whose dreams affect reality.

According to Wikipedia, the title is taken from the writings of Chuang Tzu (Zhuang Zhou):

“To let understanding stop at what cannot be understood is a high attainment. Those who cannot do it will be destroyed on the lathe of heaven.”

Mollie Hunt writes the Crazy Cat Lady cozy mystery series featuring Lynley Cannon, a sixty-something cat shelter volunteer who finds more trouble than a cat in catnip, and the Cat Seasons sci-fantasy tetralogy where cats save the world. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and a varying number of cats. 

 

You can find Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer on her blogsite: www.lecatts.wordpress.com

Facebook Author Page: www.facebook.com/MollieHuntCatWriter/

@MollieHuntCats

Sign up for Mollie’s Extremely Informal Newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/c0fOTn