And then, last night, in the dark, they liberate a brother and his sister from the rubble of a store. They have survived the weight of what must have seemed the entire world for seven days. They have lived—what?—in darkness, in silence, in stopped time, in forever time, in the ultimate not knowing?
He is wearing a yellow T-shirt; he is a lantern of light. He opens his arms wide. I am alive.
Today, in an update letter from the International Rescue Committee, one of the organizations to which I've contributed following a lead from my novelist friend Melissa Walker, I read this:
IRC Team leader Gillian Dunn reports, "People are gathering in any public space, including parks and the sides of roads. At dusk, families place cinder blocks in the road to prevent traffic from coming through. Then they lay their bed sheets down so they can sleep."
What is it, to lay beneath the moon and to wait for the crack of sun that is tomorrow in Haiti?
It's amazing, the ability to survive. It's so hard to imagine the people living on Haiti, now, even with all of the images in the news.
It's wonderful that you're drawing on this image, one of rest. I am not usually a yoga dedicator, but yesterday I wished for some peace for the people of Haiti, in whatever form they need. So glad the IRC was right for you.
I cannot even imagine.
Beautiful post. Horrific story.
Sarah Allen
(my creative writing blog)
That, in it's own way, is inspiring at the same time as being disheartening. To think of people being removed from the cinder blocks, then the same cinder blocks being used to keep them safe at night.
The spirit of survival in humans is amazing.
This is all so unimaginable to me. Makes me so thankful to be where I am...