I jog a lap to my second favorite park. Behind a fenced-off playground, I quickly do a few more exercises in a secluded spot—I'd almost call it a clearing—and then stroll back through the park in the afternoon warmth to a beloved spot under the bare, barren oak tree. Where the trunk meets the roots, I sit down on my fleece, intending to meditate for a bit. Shoes off. Just as I've found my bearings, the initial calm is shattered. "Attention, attention! This is the police!" It's not just for me, it's for all of us. There are quite a few people out and about here today. "Don't sit down... No blankets... General order... Walk and then please go home... Take it seriously... Otherwise, stricter measures..." I stand up and put my running shoes back on. Slowly. I lean against the trunk, facing the sun, and feel clearly: I don't want to leave yet. When the patrol car is almost out of sight at walking pace, I sit down again. I'm not going to leave yet. I'm trying to find my way back to the beginning of my meditation. But I'm noticeably activated. These moments of announcements. As harmless as their content may be, the tone alone triggers me. And these situations sometimes seem so unreal. There it is again, that feeling: Is all this really happening right now? Still audible, the police's warning words continue to shout through the park. They are getting quieter. Am I now illegal to sit here silently today? How long will this last? ...A few minutes pass, and a little more relaxed, I close my eyes again. I'm relieved when the two teenage soccer girls on the grass next to me put on music, and their sounds blend with the words of my meditation audio. At the same time, I hear the birds in the trees. And the music. And peace returns, inside and out. It's a sunny Saturday. As ordinary as usual, and yet as strange as never before... I decide to return to trust. Determined. There's still so much freedom left. Breathe. Listen. Cackling crows. Clanking dog leashes. Muffled football kicks. Children's laughter. And from within, I hear a rising sadness. Or is it grief? My reaction (or so I tell myself, but who knows) to what's immediately surrounding me, plus compassion for what's happening in the world. All this dying. Not just people; I'm also thinking of those favorite cafés, favorite projects, favorite plans, which these days must collectively be let go of and unwantedly bid farewell in countless numbers. They'll be buried. All of this can—and should—be mourned, damn it. Feel. The sun is warm and a cool breeze blows as I leave the hustle and bustle of the park behind me, pick up the pace again, and jog home. End of Day 8 & End of Week 1 – The exceptional situation has quickly become the new, temporary normal for me. Despite everything: I'm optimistic about the future.
