Prizefighting in a Pandemic
As I witness my boy wonder tame a tilting toe-to-toe, a tenable truth divines:
“Don’t look back, you’re not going that way.”
If this pandemic has taught us anything, it’s the power of the punch. Not only those hit hard, knocked upon their heels, but the kind efficaciously thrown back.
Strength, the type it takes to keep slugging when all seems lost, is sacred. The flabbergast of fortune is found within the surprise you‘re still standing squarely within a hurricane of haymakers.
Our spirit, both yours and mine, are fibrils — primal and proud — which fight ferociously for the promise of tomorrow.
This godforsaken year has delivered a blizzard of blows. A torrent of tempests and typhoons. Catastrophes cataclysmic. Misfortune. Hardship. Utter collapse.
Bandaged and bloody, we bang on.
But within that dark mist I see all of you and your resolute refusal to submit. The heavier the weight, the stronger the want. The darker the daydream, the brighter the beauty.
Although a shroud of winter now falls, it is not our haunt in hibernation to recant or retreat. Rather, we are bundled ‘together-apart’ within the wanderlust of wonder. A juvenescence still found within our jocular jabs.
This holiday season, hunger for humanity holds the wheel. We must keep moving forward. Collectively. Eyes fixed fantastically upon the light. A harmony of hands held across this hazard.
Clobbering all comers.
For those who can hear me, do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of prizefighting.
This solitaire will ultimately suspend. It will be a joyous jubilee. Having never abated, undefeated we shall be, together enshrined in venerable victory.