Posts Tagged ‘tragedy’

Letter from Sendai, Letter of Hope

March 24, 2011

cherry blossoms from Sendai

A good friend sent me this letter yesterday. It was sent to her from a woman in Sendai.  It is a beautiful letter, full of hope and gives a clear understanding not only what has happened to life in Japan, but what is happening in  positive ways.  To pluck out the good from such a massive tragedy is truly amazing.  There are so many lessons  for us, and this short letter moved me so much, I thought it right to post it on my blog.  Thank you, Bren, for sending this to me.  It made all the difference.  It is an amazing testament to the human spirit. An enormous Cosmic evolutionary step happening all over the world, indeed!

Lady Nyo

Things here in Sendai have been rather surreal. But I am very blessed to
have wonderful friends who are helping me a lot. Since my shack is even
more worthy of that name, I am now staying at a friend’s home.
We share supplies like water, food and a kerosene heater. We sleep
lined up in one room, eat by candlelight, share stories. It is warm, friendly,
and beautiful.

During the day we help each other clean up the mess in our homes. People sit
in their cars, looking at news on their navigation screens, or line up to
get drinking water when a source is open. If someone has water running in
their home, they put out a sign so people can come to fill up their jugs and
buckets.

It’s utterly amazingly that where I am there has been no looting, no pushing
in lines. People leave their front door open, as it is safer when an
earthquake strikes. People keep saying, “Oh, this is how it used to be in
the old days when everyone helped one another.”

Quakes keep coming. Last night they struck about every 15 minutes. Sirens
are constant and helicopters pass overhead often.

We got water for a few hours in our homes last night, and now it is for half
a day. Electricity came on this afternoon. Gas has not yet come on. But all
of this is by area. Some people have these things, others do not. No one has
washed for several days. We feel grubby, but there are so much more
important concerns than that for us now. I love this peeling away of
non-essentials. Living fully on the level of instinct, of intuition, of
caring, of what is needed for survival, not just of me, but of the entire
group.

There are strange parallel universes happening. Houses a mess in some
places, yet then a house with futons or laundry out drying in the sun.
People lining up for water and food, and yet a few people out walking their
dogs. All happening at the same time.

Other unexpected touches of beauty are first, the silence at night. No cars.
No one out on the streets. And the heavens at night are scattered with
stars. I usually can see about two, but now the whole sky is filled.. The
mountains are Sendai are solid and with the crisp air we can see them
silhouetted against the sky magnificently.

I come back to my shack to check on it each day, now to send this e-mail since the electricity is on, and I find food and water left in my entranceway. I have no idea from whom, but it is there. Old men in green hats go from door to door checking to see
if everyone is OK. People talk to complete strangers asking if they need
help. I see no signs of fear. Resignation, yes, but fear or panic, no.

They tell us we can expect aftershocks, and even other major quakes, for
another month or more.. And we are getting constant tremors, rolls, shaking,
rumbling. I am blessed in that I live in a part of Sendai that is a bit
elevated, a bit more solid than other parts. So, so far this area is better
off than others. Last night my friend’s husband came in from the country,
bringing food and water. Blessed again.

Somehow at this time I realize from direct experience that there is indeed
an enormous Cosmic evolutionary step that is occurring all over the world
right at this moment. And somehow as I experience the events happening
now in Japan, I can feel my heart opening very wide. My brother asked me if I
felt so small because of all that is happening. I don’t. Rather, I feel as
part of something happening that much larger than myself. This wave of
birthing (worldwide) is hard, and yet magnificent.

Thank you again for your care and Love of me.

—–

Basically, an anti-radiation diet should focus on the following foods:
· Miso soup· Spirulina, chlorella and the algaes (kelp, etc.)·
Brassica vegetables and high beta carotene vegetables·
Beans and lentils· Potassium, calcium and mineral rich foods·
High nucleotide content foods to assist in cellular repair including
spirulina, chlorella, algae, yeast, sardines, liver, anchovies and mackerel, Cod liver oil and olive oil· Avoid sugars and sweets and wheat

“Olsen’s Pond”, Poetry for OneshotPoetryWednesdays

January 11, 2011


We are socked in with a Winter Storm in Atlanta.  Sunday it started and we aren’t supposed to have drivable streets until the weekend.  The snow wasn’t huge, around 6 inches for Atlanta and much more in the northern counties.  But the ice that formed right after the snow storm has made it treacherous.  We have two sleds, rarely used, and we are sledding on ice and snow.  Someone is going to break an arm, probably me.

I posted “Olsen’s Pond” last week, but because of the snow this one, I’m posting it again.  Plus, it goes with the terrain outside.

Lady Nyo

OLSEN’S POND

I returned to the old house,

now still, vacant,

staring with unshaded eyes

upon a snowy front garden,

shrubs overgrown with the

lustiness of summer and neglect

now split to the ground,

taxed with a heavy snow.

I tried to light the parlor stove,

old cranky cast iron smoker

clanking and rattling

when heated in the best of times

now given up the ghost,

cold metal unyielding to wadded paper

and an old mouse nest.

The silence of the rooms only broken

by hissing wind whipping around  eaves

rattling old bones in the attic,

stirring the haunts sleeping in  corners.

It took a time for twigs to catch,

the water to turn coffee,

bacon and eggs brought from the city

and cooked in an old iron skillet–

tasting far better in the country air.

I looked down at hands cracked

in the brittle winter light,

moisture gone,

hair static with electricity,

feet numbed from the chill,

that woodstove not giving up

more heat than a miser.

I walked down to Olsen’s pond,

looked through the glassine surface

remembered the boy who had fallen

through the ice playing hockey–

slipped under the thin cover, disappearing

without a sound,

only noticed when our puck flew

Up in the air and he, the guard, missing.

We skated to the edge, threw bodies flat

trying to reach him just out of catch,

crying like babies, snot running down chins,

knowing he was floating just under the ice,

silent as the lamb he was.

Childhood ended that day for many of us.

We started to drift away to the city,

our skates and sticks put up,

Olsen’s pond deserted like a haunted minefield.

Fifty years ago I still remember that day

when stretched as far as I could

my belly freezing on treacherous ice,

straining to reach a life just out of sight,

his muffler and stick floating to the surface–

The boy, the important part,

gone for good from a chilly winter day.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009,2011

From “White Cranes of Heaven” soon to be published.

Olsen’s Pond

January 2, 2010

winter pond

I returned to the old house,

now still, vacant,

staring with unshaded eyes

upon a snowy front garden,

shrubs overgrown with the

lustiness of summer

now split to the ground

taxed with heavy snow.

I tried to light the parlour woodstove,

same cranky cast iron smoker

clanking and rattling

when heated in the best of times

had given up the ghost,

cold metal unyielding to wadded paper

and an old mouse nest.

The silence of the rooms only broken

by  hissing wind whipping around  eaves

rattling old bones in the attic

stirring the haunts sleeping in their corners.

It took  time for pine to catch,

the water to coffee.

An old iron skillet served for the bacon

and eggs  brought from the city

tasting far better in the country air.

I looked down at  hands cracked

in the sharp winter’s light,

moisture gone, the air dry,

hair static with electricity,

feet numb from the chill.

I walked down to Olsen’s pond,

looked through the glassine surface

remembered the boy who had fallen

through the ice while playing hockey–

slipped under the thin cover, disappearing

without a sound, noticed when our puck flew

Up in the air and he, the guard, missing.

We skated to the edge, threw bodies flat

trying to reach him just out of catch,

crying like babies, snot running down our chins,

knowing he was floating just under the ice,

silent like the lamb he was.

Childhood ended then for most of us.

We started to drift away to the city,

our skates and sticks put up, Olsen’s

pond deserted like a haunted minefield.

Forty years ago I still remember that day

when I stretched as far as I could

my belly freezing on treacherous ice,

grasping to reach a life just out of sight,

his muffler and stick floating in water,

The boy, the important part,

gone for good from a chilly winter’s play.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009


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