Just three or four months ago, the word corona meant nothing more to us than something like a crown or the reflective ring around a burning sun. It is thus as our fear is in this age of corona virus. Our fear is not the center of the thing, but a reflective halo around the thing.

I came across this picture the other day, which for some reason I had saved in a file I no longer use, only for it to emerge, as if on its own volition, a reflection of what is happening in my own subconscious.

You recognize the location and premise of this story; the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain. I have never understood why people participate in this; I have enough challenges just trying to navigate Austin traffic to get home every night, so I don’t need another dose of “stimulation.” But apparently, these guys (and of course it’s mostly guys) do. Perhaps this is an explicit ritual designed to remind humankind that life can be dangerous and uncertain. By placing one’s self in certain danger, and getting away with your life intact, maybe you feel empowered. Cheating death… ha ha ha!

This painting appears to depict a runner being cornered by the bull, as the others at the top of the picture run away.  Part of the power of the piece is the sense of fear in the cornered runner, highlighted (literally) by the halo of colors surrounding the man, while the others are painted in black and white. It appears to be this runner’s life-or-death moment. Or is it?

Take another look. Is the bull turning toward his single prey, or perhaps beginning a pivot away from the man toward the group of runners just ahead of him?  Perhaps the bull is thinking, “this is just one guy, and wouldn’t it be better if I could go after the herd of two-leggeds within an easy jaunt just down the alley?” Perhaps the bull prefers a more target-rich environment to a singular gore of one frightened skinny man in a business suit. No one knows. Like many moments, this moment in time is uncertain, and the way we read this painting can serve as a sort of Rorschach test—what we see reveals what we fear.

To me, this moment, a snapshot of fear poised on the edge of possibility, represents this day and time. Will we be singled out, or will the ever-present danger take someone else? I lie awake imagining every night: what if someone in my family gets sick, or perhaps my employees, or maybe even myself? What if I go broke from the economic fallout soon to come? I gore myself with the fear of it every day, even though the bull might have already decided to move on.

Like this picture, the future from one moment to the next is unknown, although every person who looks at this likely thinks they already know what will happen next. The way you read the narrative of the painting is your reflective corona, the halo around the burning sun of your hopes and fears.

How do we deal with the fear? Some will pretend that the danger is not real. Or perhaps the risk is for someone else and not for them. Some hoard. Sing the national anthem, or dig a hole and crawl into it. Still others think they can outrun it, like the men at the top of the alley.

I know folks who believe they can outsmart the virus and its multitude of consequences. Maybe I am one of them. I try to out-study it, as if the copious amounts of newfound knowledge I have consumed will somehow inoculate me and those around me.  But no matter how we cope, someday we might find ourselves as that lone man, up against a yellow wall, his red halo reflecting in the eyes of the black-horned beast. 

Our fear is not the thing. It is the reflection of our own understanding of the thing. There are few blessings in being pinned up against the wall of the narrative of our fears. But, if we are so brave as to recognize one, if we can shed the surrender of hopelessness, it would be that in these moments we learn about ourselves, and others. We are not the skinny man limply offering his white kerchief at the black beast. We do not have to raise the other hand to expose our heart as if to make it a target for that which we fear has cornered us. Death and destruction are not the inevitable outcomes of all the danger that we are witnessing today, and tomorrow. 

We should prepare for this moment, even if it never comes for us, because it will surely come for others we know and love. Imagining and feeling this state of being can help us be more compassionate, more careful, and more grateful when, God willing, the moment of danger passes.