The Medusa’s hair writhes with snakes so ugly, one look and you turn to stone. The only way the hero can destroy her is not to look. He holds up his shield, wields his sword.
Back in the day, the horrors of children burning, hurricanes flooding cities, students being shot were limited to a half hour each night on the news, a newspaper cracked open in the morning, and magazines. These days we face our phones and scroll. We see the horrors peel past our eyes all day, every day. People post their losses—beloved spouses, siblings, pets. They ask for prayers. We flinch.
Our politicians curse each other and us. We think our memes will save the world.
We stare at the snakes writhing on the monster’s head. We turn to stone. She’s not even angry. She just is.
But each of us wields a marvelous shield called wonder. Sometimes it’s decked out with Northern Lights, the Big Dipper behind them, or we see a comet with her veil flying. Butterflies still dance. Squirrels scold, jumping from tree to tree. With the sun set, the horizon glows orange and then blue and then dark blue, with a star or two. The moon rises and sets, changing shape day by day.
We wield the promise from Julian of Norwich, spoken during the Plague: “All will be well, all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.” And that’s how we slay the monster.
I’m Katie Andraski and that’s my perspective with a nod to Martin Shaw.
