Another dark wave sweeps over me. This time it is a tsunami in the wake of a horrible quake that has rocked Japan and the places that I have visited in life and in the afterlife of the virtual theater that I occupy now. If I could cry, I would unleash another tsunami. As it is, I petition Amaterasu to carry her people to safety.
I am sharing a poem, by the writer who orchestrates our strange operations, about the tsunami we call life, the way disaster finds us, and accident carries us away.
by Linda Watanabe McFerrin
I fear water.
Knowing this, you
have built dikes around me,
levees, walls to hold back the floods.
A tsunami is a freak
something unexpected, a large wave
of inordinate proportions.
This is not what I dream about,
bridges disappearing beneath me,
kitchens filling up with water,
out-of-control cars driving themselves
into the Pacific Ocean.
that the villagers close to sea
build their homes of paper and wood for this
that the paper may be burned (should it survive us)
in offerings for the dead
and that the wood (who can anticipate good fortune?)
may save us.
—Erin Orison, DEAD LOVE/the Daily Slice