Infinity, Are You With Me?

15 Mar

Japan being divided into colourful lines. Green Line, where it wasn’t so bad and nobody seemed to be reporting from the area. Orange Line, where “devastation” is a word that can’t even begin to explain . . . . Where people run and run, are scanned for radiation, turn around and run back and look for their lost mothers fathers sisters brothers babies. Yellow line, where Tokyo stands and shudders, where the people I know are still alive.

Tokyo, the third reactor just exploded

and radiation is seeping out.

Tokyo, stay indoors and

make your houses airtight.

“We’re okay for now,” they said. “We don’t have any plans to leave the country. Everything seems normal but when we look closely, we see cracks on the pavement.” The roads are gone and the shelves in the supermarkets are all empty.

My pavement isn’t cracked and I ate strawberries yesterday.

Have we come any closer to understanding this is one world? That if I walked all the way down my intact and smooth pavement, I would see the ocean washing up bodies and see babies being scanned for radiation.

Stand at the lines of destruction that are wrinkles of worry on the Earth’s forehead. “One world” means everything affects everyone – means lines that began in Japan will continue, and swooping through the energies of the world, will transform and dive into the spiritual plane of the human condition. Can we watch from our high towers and remain unscathed? Does what happens over there, not touch us over here?

Ridden by these vicious thoughts, I ran outside with wild eyes, my anxious heart chanting: One world, one world.

Infinity, are you with me? Are you with me while I search for the justice of at least one new crack in the pavement of the Western World?

Just one, and if I could find it, I’d lie beside it and coo tenderly so we can feel less helpless, less frail. And invite your ghosts to seep up between the cracks and we’ll walk you to our lush cemeteries, where the gardener comes to prune the roses, where people play Frisbee and fire poi and read each other poetry. Invite you to sit on epitaphs and spread your soft Japanese sighs over the grass. You are welcome to live here, as people walk through your mourning mists on their way to work, and for a single second are drenched in the bittersweet humidity of Infinity that lives in your ghostly sighs. Come live in the morning dew so we can feel you and remember you.

I howl through the city and come to a standstill before a bench in the shade. On it, a middle aged man hung his head and folded his arms. In the pits of alcoholic morpheus, his temple hung with the weight of the world, with personal guillotine. A middle aged man, an alcoholic in the park, a monument of sorrow. A child on a tricycle stops to stare.

I saw his shadow dance Infinity, are you with me?

It’s unbalanced, I agree. He wasn’t what I had expected. But when I saw him, I felt I had found a crack in the pavement.

This was one of the most difficult works I have ever produced, plagued by thoughts that there is nothing I could ever say that could grasp the magnitude of what is happening in Japan. But I believe it is an artist’s duty to report on & respond to Life, and reach out our hands to one another. We can’t ignore what is happening simply because it would be “too challenging” to write about.

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