Waking, alternately moving through a foggy fugue state and doing what needs to be done.
Keeping devastation and crisis at arm's length. What seeps through renders me liquid.
Though we have electricity (which is inconceivably huge), I feel the weight of this surreal bubble atop us.
Everything is still while recovery is furiously taking place elsewhere. But the stillness is a facade.
Hearts continue beating, at times racing. Memory is being made. Process is percolating.
Our unit here is living along. We are holding together with our neighbors. Strands pull together as we go to and receive friends in support.
It is becoming clearer that there are pockets of true that are hardly known.
A report from the East Village (Marcella) of people dumpster diving and bathing at hydrants not a relief vehicle in sight. They have evacuated to Brooklyn down to the last drops in their tub and a kitchen with only rotted food left.
This from a healthy unit of two adults and one young child. I am shaken to think of the elderly, mentally ill, physically disabled, etc. populations in lower Manhattan, NJ, Haiti, and other areas knocked on their asses by this storm and their proximity to the sea.
The stories and moments of not only survival, but grace in adversity are encouraging. But the energy of souls suffering and perishing...I am feeling that, too.
Peace.
P.S. Thank you for your comments and for reading. We don't have internet and I am blogging bare bones using my phone. Not sure how to get to comments to comment back yet. I do receive your comments via email though and am reading them. Thank you.
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