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.

When You Hear a Baby Cry...

At 3:14 on a Tuesday afternoon, every baby through the age of 3 the world over began to cry, inconsolably, day and night without pause for 3 days. Parents could not sleep, neighborhoods found no rest, businesses closed, offices stayed empty, and the hospitals filled with complaints. Where no human babies could be heard, small mammal and bird babies took up the cry, great schools of fish vibrated their unrest and swarms of insects droned the air with the beating of their wings, their clicks and calls. Even the quietest of the world’s reptiles put emotion to sound and the rumble of discontent shook the entire surface of the earth without end.

But as sudden as the cacophony of miserable cries started, it ended all at once like a symphony coming to a close, every pair of lungs silenced, every pair of eyes dried; humans, cats, dogs, birds, fish, lizards, and bugs, everyone silent. And in this pause, this quiet reprieve, the entire world collectively slept. A hush so deep not a single being stirred for 4 days. And in those 4 days the world dreamt marvelous things, incredible places, images of love and abundance, cascades of liquid light, music and art of otherworldly delight, ripples of laughter and vibrations of joy sharing with long ago loved ones and meeting each other for the first time, cycling again and again so that the world collectively passed out of time and stepped into a new consciousness. When they awoke, the physical world was exactly as they had left it, only inside every being knew, as clear as you know your hand from you face, their connection to one another.

Every citizen of every nation shed their old skins of identity, stepped out of the concepts of patriotism and race and saw themselves as children of a collective planet. Everyone understood one another on a profound plane of existence having known and walked in one another’s shoes a thousand lives or more. The world collectively approached the surrounding built and natural environment with reverent understanding and indescribable love. They, every man, woman and child, got to work right away.

Collectively called by deep, inner memory, every human being the world over began exploring their greatest passion, finding and creating their personal sanctuaries in harmony with others who shared their dream resonance without infringing in the least on the dreams of others. Like bees in a hive driven by a higher order of organization, the world was transformed in 3 days of noise and 4 days of rest. In the following hours, days, and weeks, garden plots sprung out of the ground in backyards and parking lots, on rooftops and terraces. The unnecessary tasks of moving paper through buildings were forgotten and there was more than enough housing for everyone. Food banks arose, distributing nutritional meals from the plethora of groceries the world prior had accumulated while passionate growers and farmers and anyone wanting to learn and help began pulling in local, abundant harvests to feed and share. Wastes were composted, water was not soiled with chemicals or unnatural materials, but was filtered after use, reused or recovered and the air cleared, filling happily working lungs with song, stories, laughter. Every answer to every problem, every past hesitation, was available immediately in the world before their eyes; their collective passions individually playing out in accordance with a higher balance that made each life’s path sacred while also enabling, inspiring, cooperatively organizing every other being’s own sacred path, everyone enjoying all that they and the world collectively could need.

In those weeks and months following the world’s collective re-envisioning of itself, before the disharmony of ego and fears began to creep among the edges of the world’s thoughts, the cityscapes and the countrysides, the wild untouched places and the most densely populated, teemed with a lushness of spirit and love, a celebration of life from the cloth-draped balconies of former ghettos to the wind-swept plains of the highest plateaus. Customs and ways of seeing were set in place so that even when worries arose or anger ignited, the flames of interaction were collectively embraced and quieted. The collective harmony restored what individual emotions had once tried to selfishly isolate. The loneliness, the ache of feeling separated or abandoned faded into memory and no longer being nourished collectively, eventually melted away so that even its memory no longer pained. The world and its inhabitants, willingly born anew, pursued passion and creativity, imagination and dreams, drawing forth abundance and talent, new perspectives and solutions to every wonder, every child’s how, why, and when. And everyone, everyone was amazed at how simple it all began.

So every time you hear a baby’s cry, remember this story and the secret wisdom that cry is trying to call to wake from deep within us. We have only to dream, to know, to remember, and then bring our imaginations to life.