Terremoto

This weekend was a contrast between earth and sky.

On Friday for the three day weekend we ascended into the clouds, hiking up to a nature reserve accessible only by foot or by mule. At the summit you find a wooden lodge with an orchid garden, a giant swing that makes you feel like you're flying into the forest, and no electricity.

At one point I caught a glimpse of the view from the top, but most of the time the sky all around us was totally clouded in. That, along with the candlelight, gave our weekend an ethereal, heaven-like quality. We existed in a fog of white, high above the world. We inhabited the sky.

Then, the world shook. It felt like when the above-ground subway passes directly overhead, only it didn't stop. The only thing above us was sky, and we were many, many miles from the nearest train. The building rattled around us, and I grabbed the arms of the two people sitting next to me. As it dawned on us what was happening, we scrambled outside, where the ground continued to shake underneath us. After the earth stopped quaking, my legs continued for some time.

We had enough cell reception to confirm that family and friends had not been harmed, and to let others know that we were all right.

But the true magnitude of a 7.8 didn't impact until we came down the mountain and reconnected to our phones, our Facebooks, our various newsfeeds... Hundreds of people dead, thousands injured, and thousands more suddenly homeless, all in some of the poorest, most remote provinces of this beautiful country. People are still trapped under the rubble.

And here we are, so close to the epicenter, yet so far. Collecting bottles of water and cans of food doesn't feel like enough. I want to gather up souls, invite people into my home, bulldoze or bleed or brandish a sword, embrace the ones who are hurting, wrap them in blankets, rebuild their homes. I want to send them up into the clouds, like we were this past weekend, so they won't have to look at the earth that betrayed them.