Here’s the latest dispatch from the dislocated. Nancy and Elijah have both safely returned from their wanderings. Nancy from her father’s 90th birthday celebration in Massachusetts, and Elijah from his walk-about (he made it all the way east to Pittsburgh) – and we have secured permanent housing. Our home burned on September 8th in the Almeda Fire, and PEMCO our insurance company moved heaven and earth to give us a speedy dwelling settlement enabling our future move into a small but lovely condo in Ashland. Words can’t adequately communicate what an emotional relief it is to have them home and to have found a place to live.
Had a chance to just get quiet and breathe this morning, trying to absorb all that has occurred in my life over the past four weeks.
Found myself wrestling with a jumble of emotions. First there is deep gratitude for Larry the incredibly kind insurance guy from PEMCO, Steve the estimator from Belfor Construction, and all those who made our more-than-speedy settlement possible. There is also overwhelming and humbling gratefulness for the outpouring of money, good wishes, notes, prayers, and chants from so many family and friends. The response from folks I haven’t seen in as much as 50 years has been unfathomable. For one prickly grumpy old man, I sure have accumulated some remarkable companions along the way. It is simply beyond understanding.
Alongside with this gushing of immense gratitude there was also bewilderment and deep sadness. I mean, why me? How can I be so fortunate while so many of my neighbors, documented and un, are still going through so much pain, uncertainty, and loss? Truth be told, it just breaks my heart.
If I’ve learned anything through this ordeal, it is to find a way of becoming part of a solution to these local disparities while resisting the divisive name-calling and labeling that produces only more pain and dislocation.
And finally, there was my emotional response to God. Through it all, the fires, the sirens, the numerous re-locations, the unbreathable smoke-filled air, the grief of loss, the uncertainty of the future – there was always a wordless awareness of being held by our Sacred Other. Never abandoned. Never alone. I experienced at the raw reptilian fear level what Erik Kolbell writes, “Life is arbitrary, God is not.”
And so, I’m left bewildered, incredibly grateful, broken-hearted, safe, and loved. As I say, it’s a jumble. Maybe that’s the opportunity life affords? We’re given good and bad and we’re asked to make the best of it for ourselves and the others we share life with? We’re all in this ambivalent word together. We truly need each other. Nothing like a good crisis of biblical proportions to bring this truth home.
In closing, a favorite line from Hafiz, the Sufi poet, has come to surface from my soul’s musings.
“My love for God is such that I could dance with Him (or Her) tonight without you,
but I would rather have you here.”