Tsunami 2010
From: James Algiers
Subject: Tsunami
Date: February 27, 2010 at 7:32:22 AM CST
To: Louie
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Tsunami 2010
An earthquake, off the coast of Chili, generates a Tsunami headed toward Hawaii, scheduled to arrive in six to eight hours, nothing between the two land masses; just imagine what it must have been like in the days of Magellan. Sailing on the Pacific Ocean, named for peace and quiet, lack of storms, and monotony of days. Suddenly there occurs a rogue wave, higher than the poop deck, more threatening than a loaded pistol held to the buccaneer's head; this is what happens each and every day during the lives of individuals.
Just two days ago, a friend of ours, drove the company truck to Horicon, at night on the back road. He was headed to a fast-pitch workout for his teenage daughter. Both the father and daughter were wearing seat belts. The truck hit a patch of black ice, skidded on the road, hit the embankment, and flipped end over end and side over side, three times. They crawled out the driver's window, took a few deep breaths, and thanked God they were standing, breathing, and shaking. Five minutes before the black ice they were laughing and planning the coming spring ball games, then they flipped, rolled, and lived. Just as the sailing ships of the past; one second upright and safe, the next rolling, scared, and facing judgment and mortality.
This is the course of our lives; not a moribund thought for the morning, but a realistic view of the moment and day. After a few - 84 years - on the planet, I recall some days of rogue waves and rollovers.
The first episode was my birth. I was the firstborn of six. I was a moderate-sized 7-pound baby delivered by forceps extraction from the tightly constricted passageway and traumatized by a laceration of the right side of my head, a two-inch laceration, superficial and fast healing, but remaining as a scar above the ear, hidden by the hair line, but visible during the butchering haircut of boot camp. I believe I have relieved the passage during my growing years when fevers of strep throat and viral infections caused discomfort and nightly anxiety. At those times I would have a constricting sensation of choking, while fitfully sleeping in the black upstairs room. Constriction of the throat and a right-sided headache would awaken me and I would lie sweating in bed afraid to move. Events of that type would occur until the teenage changes in testosterone flow altered the soma and psyche. I do believe the episodes were birth channel passageway connected.
One day while swimming at Lake Winnebago I became stranded while dog-paddling to the raft. There were many “Youts” in the near proximity, but no one to help. I sank into the depths, resurfaced, two or three times, and finally made it to the raft. Again I had the sensation of the dark birth canal suffocation.
Years later, an afternoon on the island of Attu nearly ended in disaster when sliding down the snow-covered mountain I came upon a chasm, four feet across and deep; was able to just slide-jump across and struggle on the far side finally scrambling to the snow-covered surface. If not successful, I would still be there, in the Aleutian womb of perpetual ice and snow. I have often thought that would have been a hell of a way to go. Suppose when found some sort of forceps extraction would have been done on the frozen cadaver.
And then there was the near rollover while pulling our family’s travel trailer. Those minutes of swerving downhill and loss of control ended in a crashing conclusion on the roadside where the sudden occurrence was near immortality. That crash seemingly prolonged as the birth passage ended in escape from hurt and injury but never from the recrimination of a dumb act of driving and preparation. We lucked out, only Beth bares a small scar from our deliverance.
I suppose there have been other events of near catastrophe, but this morning I only know that in each life there are moments of tsunami proportions, most of which we survive, but have the trauma of memory when we go down the pathways of daily living. And so Louie, may the wind always be at your back, and the state of grace enlighten your path on the visceral journey of life.
Keep the faith, my friend.
Jim
