Terremoto

When we woke in the middle of the night to the rattles of a house being shaken, the altar light was still glowing on the last strands of its wick. A candle we had left burning to help guide Gray and Marilyn through the portal to Los Brujos remained lit through the vibrations and rolls, the stumbling out of bed towards doorways, the quiet moonlight and the breezes of a forest come alive lunging in silence from above and below while Trigo panicked in fear and we just waited for the movement to cease, not knowing, just instinct, heart accelerating, chickens cackling screams. The candle remained lit on our altar as Marcelo and Andres came up the path, radio searching for signals getting only static except for one faint voice from Argentina where, too, people were stumbling out of their houses in a daze under moonlight. The boys hurried on toward the view of Valdivia, not a light lit, not even the closest cell tower, and we were suddenly cut-off from the world and also profoundly connected in shared experience with countless others whom we could feel, but no longer hear or see. As we stood among the radio static under our house altar, commenting on our perspectives, wondering where this quake came from, the candle that had stayed lit burned out.

An earthquake registering about a 7 on the Richter scale passed through our region bursting water mains and electricity lines, winding down from an 8.8 at its epicenter where its vibrations smashed bridges and buildings, cutting transportation north to Santiago. And yet, we were essentially untouched. After the aftershocks passed, the last sending us stumbling out of bed back towards doorways again, we awoke in the morning to nearly a typical day routine, except that the guests who had slept in tents were now realizing something big had happened and were finally awake at the door anxious to contact family, hear news; startled that the rumble they had felt while asleep on the ground in Los Brujos could elsewhere have taken many lives. There was only to wait and distract oneself from the flood of energy, equal parts worry for those we hadn’t heard from as the phone lines began to clear, and waves of love and support swirling from afar as news of the quake wrapped the internet ethers.

Like lights on little altars, I felt the vibration of love generating amongst my closest family and friends even as our internet connection continued to fail. I was anxious to let everyone know we were fine, so I concentrated on painting window frames and breathing peace. In the afternoon, the internet again came on-line and the sensations I had felt were confirmed in the many beautiful notes written by friends and family. But the limited information we had gleaned from the radio was also suddenly confirmed as well in graphic imagery, digital snapshots of collapsed roadways and stricken faces, families without houses, without potable water.

We had enjoyed a delicious, hot lunch for 12, our drinking water tank completely full, solar-power recharging all cell phones and internet connections, and not a thing had fallen off any of our shelves; all structures and beings were standing and accounted for. I have no idea why the Universe works this way, why in the end Gray and Marilyn were spared a chaotic stranding somewhere in South America, whisked back stateside mid-flight as Santiago’s airport closed, why we have been left unscathed while around us there is panic and tempers flaring, why any of it at all, as I try to sort our my new emotions. I only know that when we woke to those first rumbles, the altar light was still lit and our ancestors’ faces were smiling down. I thank our dear ancestors, this forest, this mountain. I thank the Universe for its protection and I ask to share this love with all those tonight whom I could and continue to feel, whom we can not as of yet hear nor see.