I've been holding these thoughts too closely the last few days -and needed them out in the air.

I've got that post 9/11 feeling. Know what I mean? Stunned. Disillusioned. Lucky. Guilty.

It's not my home that has been reduced to a pile of kindling. It's not my family wading through polluted waters to higher ground. It's not my baby transferred to a hospital all alone, with no idea where the parents are, or if they are even still alive. It's not the precious pieces of my life floating away with the receding tide.

Can you feel the weight of grief as thousands mourn the loss of homes and communities and lives? Their fear and worry are like physical pulls on my soul right now. And once again, my life and loves are all safe and sound. Warm, dry, fed, and clothed. Once more, I have been passed over, and others have not. Relief mingles with guilt. And fear. How many times will tragedy look past me? How long can I remain invisible to the fates? The Chinese fear to draw the attention of the gods-- because they are jealous and vindictive. In China, you never say anything is too good, because the gods will hear and take it from you. Sometimes I feel that way, even though the God I worship is the very fountain of all the good things in my life. He would not take them away in spite.

And yet, I know, my life has been strangely absent of tragedy. It scares me, because surely my number will come up soon. I'm due something really bad by now. You can't be untouched forever, right? What will it be? Cancer? An accident? Will I have the fortitude to survive my own personal Kasandra?

Tomorrow, I will probably go back to my house, which now has electricity. I will rake up the leaves, pick up the sticks, and put my life back into gear. Because I can. Because it's still there. But tomorrow- what will all these other people do? And the day after that, what then? Their lives are scattered along the coast in little bitty pieces, and I don't know how to make that any better.