(after a letter a young English woman wrote from Sendai)
Things here in Sendai are surreal.
My shack is worthy of its name.
We all share water, food, kerosene.
We sleep lined up in one room,
eat by candle light and share stories.
During the day we help each other
clearing the mess and looking
for water to drink.
If we find any, we share it.
There is no looting, no pushing.
Front doors are left open as it is safer
when earthquakes strike.
This is like in the old days, say people.
Quakes keep coming every 15 minutes
sirens are blaring, helicopters pass overhead.
We had water for a few days,
now it is here for half a day.
Electricity has come on, but no gas yet.
No one has washed for many days.
Non-essentials are peeling away,
we live on instinct, on intuition,
on caring , on what is needed for survival
not just for me, but for us all.
Some have things left,
others lost all, but we all share
also the silence at night, no cars,
and the star-scattered sky
we cannot remember.
The mountains of Sendai are clear and crisp
as never before.
Old men in green hats are walking the streets
to check the wellbeing of neighbours.
People ask strangers if they need help.
I see no signs of fear, only acceptance.
Someone left me water and food
by the door. There was no name.
I am grateful
I feel in the midst of something
taking part all over the world,
a cosmic power falling like star dust,
a big powerful wave of re-birthing
that carries humility.
I see this as hope.
with love to you all