SEISMIC EVENT

These days you hear a lot about the climate crisis. Still, probably on some level you just take it for granted that things will always be there in the same way, forever and ever, amen, with the earth... and with your life.

Oh sure, there may be the occasional windstorm, a few lightening strikes, a brush fire, but nothing that we don't have the tools and the wherewithal to handle quite handily.

You are aware, of course, that the threat of a tornado or hurricane or earthquake is a reality, but really, don't those bad things happen to other people???

The barely perceptible tremors can be explained away or ignored for a long time.  Maybe a larger rumble comes out of the blue, but it's over quickly and, well, who wants to worry about what that might mean?

Then one day you wake up and realize that actually you have been worrying, you have been wondering, you have been a bit stressed, and you've been stockpiling for the day the big one hits by wrapping yourself in a protective coating of "I don't care; I can handle anything."

Then, BOOM, the earth shakes, you lose your footing, you grab for anything solid to hang onto, but in spite of your best efforts the walls come tumbling down and you are standing in rubble.  You look around and wonder how this could have happened.  You thought your structure was strong -- stronger than most.  But you were wrong.

You wander around dazed for awhile, kicking at loose bricks, breathing the dust of powdered mortar. You search for signs of life and find none.  So you turn away from that futile task and start to research how this happened.  What did you miss?  How could this have been prevented?  Why are you reacting as if death were at the door when others who face similar messes just whistle while they sweep?  How can you get through the devastation?  How do you rebuild?

You call a couple of friends in to take a look.  They seem to be a bit shocked too, but wise also, and  they sit down in the rubble with you and start to knock the stuck mortar off the individual bricks.  Dust flies in the air and lands in buckets where you mix it with tears and it grows thick and strong.  You have the materials, but how to reassemble what once stood?  You call in professionals for advice.  They mostly tell you things you already know, but they also offer empathy for the job ahead, assurance you are up to the task, and affirmation that the mess is not yours alone to deal with.  You do not live alone in that house.

And one day sooner than you thought possible, you are not alone anymore.  Your partner is standing with you in front of what once was your home.  There are two walls, standing parallel to each other, but the roof and adjoining walls are gone.  There isn't much supporting those two remaining walls.  Still, you look at each other and decide, "We like this house; we have to save it."  And you each pick up a brick and from opposite ends of the expanse and you begin to build again.  You lay one brick, then another and another, spreading the mortar on thick.  One or the other of you gets tired, frustrated, feels hopeless.  One or the other smiles, laughs, reaches out with an encouraging hug.  Every brick brings you closer together until there is a partial wall built to bolster the two that had been standing alone.  One expanse has been filled, strengthening the whole.  It feels like hope.

Soon the two of you find yourselves doing what you do best; making blueprints, gathering tools, setting to work, celebrating each other's joys and acknowledging the frustrations inevitable with any project worth undertaking.  At night you lie in the dark, entwined, and marvel that something new and stronger is being built from the devastation.  And you vow to keep building.

At least, that's the view from here...©