There is a hole in my sole…

Tsunami after the quake – Japan March 2011

The waves crash beyond their usual shorelines ravaging the proud stately cliffside homes that were so sought after. We stare as the surpassing waves swallow all in its way, merciless, and without prejudice. All is quiet. No one makes a sound, no one speaks, no one screams.

If they had been screaming, it must have been on the inside, because this shock it consumes all the ability they had to make any sound.

And I run, into the silence, vigorously, scraping thin the bottom of my shoes, dragging feet, until a hole formed in my sole.

The sound of the waves crashing fades into the background as the deafening silence of breaking hearts ring in the ears of all like white noise.

Unending white noise.

An inevitable sickness came next, the sickness caused by the helplessness and hopelessness that had began to weaken knees causing many to kneel.

When hopelessness had struck the deepest chord while wounding the souls, the child cries, in fear, breaking the silence, forcing the reality to pierce open that grief that had been hiding behind shock.

And as I ran, the world began to cry. Her tears stream as she cracks a little.

Our broken earth chokes. She means well, but how much more can she take before she breaks into a million pieces and leaves us all, homeless. 

“When will they ever stop so that I will have the time to ease the pain and mend the holes in my soul?” she asks.

When can I stop running, so I can mend the holes in my sole?

The ones who have gone before us look down from the heavens. They hold back their tears so it does not rain. But lightning bolts across the skies, and thunder shouts its loudest in years.

The heavens are hurting, and must hold back.

The world, as it breaks, will have to stand up again, for if it does not, its wounds will remain, gaping wide open.

It is just the way it is.

Our broken earth chokes. She means well, but how much more can she take before she breaks into a million pieces and leaves us all, homeless.

“When will they ever stop so that I will have the time to ease the pain and mend the holes in my soul?” she asks.

The old lady stops crying and picks up the child. She turns around as the angry waves recede. She walks out and whispers to the child, “its over now stop crying”. She knew exactly what needs to be done, as if she heard the heavens whisper. Her aching heart braces itself. It has been broken many time before, it can take this one last hit. She turns back to the people and said, “let us pick up our rubbish.”

And the people stop crying so they can pick up their rubbish.

Our broken earth chokes. She means well, but how much more can she take before she breaks into a million pieces and leaves us all, homeless. 

“When will they ever stop so that I will have the time to ease the pain and mend the holes in my soul?” she asks.

I know I am miles away, but some things wound so deep that it resonates, and I feel their pain.

But did they not know, that their constant drilling has finally caused the earth to break? Did they not know that as the earth is sucked hollow, it will never be whole enough to hold us all.

Did they not know, did they not know?

Our broken earth chokes. She means well, but how much more can she take before she breaks into a million pieces and leaves us all, homeless. 

“When will they ever stop so that I will have the time to ease the pain and mend the holes in my soul?” she asks.

I am still running, and my sole is breaking.

 

(Bekindrewrite’s InMon: Hollow planet)

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