国家地理:不要让流行病夺走我们的欢庆(4)（在线收听）

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，我仍深切盼望着我心爱的小区、我的家人、教堂里的歌声与神圣的寂静，以及经常与我们共进晚餐的各种人群。我思念与人的接触。我怀念各种庆祝活动、严峻时期的正能量，甚至是庆祝时的喧闹声。巨大声响能吓跑恶灵。其中我最想念的，是肌肤的触感。

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

但我们不能飞往任何地方，甚至不能开车去我们表亲的狩猎小屋或移动式房屋。

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，我就会沉浸在恐惧中。但我并非独自一人：我还有朋友和想象力。自COVID-19发生以来，我起初想象我们活在自己的星球。那个暴躁不安的自我，以及和我们隔离在一起、快要使我们抓狂的家人，或许可以为我们的家赋予神圣意义。不过，依我目前的状况来看，这项任务太过艰难。因此，我把我家想象成多年来朋友送我的那些华丽火柴盒，里面装着希望与信念的象征：一只纸鹤、一串干燥蓝铃花、一颗爱心。

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.

接着我在房子各处搭起圣坛。放上羽毛，用来提醒我们飞行、轻盈、优雅。放上来自海滩的东西，它经过抛掷及翻搅，动荡造就了它的美。