amida hawaii - more on the earthquake

We are so grateful that neither Paul nor Judy were hurt in the Hawaii earthquake. However there has been worse damage to the buildings than was first evident - they have been designated unfit for living in at the moment. Here is Judy's description of her experience - and very challenging it sounds too:

Many people have asked about our experience of the earthquake, but we've been so busy with the aftermath that I just realized we never did a post about it. Well, here's a bit of our story, or at least my version of it.

Like other devastating forces of nature, earthquakes seem strangely selective creatures. How many times have you seen on the news a single house standing alone after a tornado or a wildfire? A doll or picture seemingly untouched among the rubble of a hurricane? It's hard to get one's head around.

     

 

During the 6.7 earthquake that struck the Big Island a couple of weeks ago, at the Amida Hamlet the fruit didn't fall from the trees; the tools didn't fall from their nails where they hung on the backside of the main house; Paul's scrap lumber dish shelves remained attached to the wall; the beautiful ceramic Buddha didn't move from its position on a table in the main house. But everything on the top shelf walked out of the kitchen cabinets onto the floor; the bathroom medicine cabinet emptied itself into the sink, with the ceramic soap and toothbrush dishes intact; the big computer monitor moved away from the window while turning to face it; chunks shattered from the lid of the toilet tank; the plumbing under the kitchen sink in the main house and leading outside from the guest house cracked and separated, spewing a geyser of water. And, oh yeah, all the buildings walked downhill on their foundations, hoping to get a better view of the ocean.

Paul and I were in the temple when it hit, having our morning service. About halfway through the first paragraph of the Summary of Faith and Practice, the noise started. Initially it sounded like a heavy vehicle nearby or a plane flying overhead, accompanied by vibration. I looked at Paul, and I'm not sure if I voiced my question--Is this an earthquake? He didn't have to answer. In another moment, the noise grew to a roar and the real shaking started. Again, I looked to Paul, with, "What do we do?" written all over my face. (Or so he tells me.) Paul had experienced earthquakes when he lived in California, including the big one in 1989, so as far as I was concerned he was a veteran. We were already standing, on the far side of the temple away from the door, so we moved over to the center support at the wall and huddled together, not quite squatting, arms around each other. I vividly remember seeing my hand covering Paul's head and not knowing how it got there. He had done the same, but I'm not sure how low we crouched, if we actually leaned against the post, how our legs meshed so we didn't knock each other over. The plywood floor didn't really rumble or roll. It was more like it bucked. Paul's bell rolled across the floor. The little golden Buddha, the delicate teapot and cups we use for water offerings, the candles and probably even incense didn't fall--they flew from the altar. Then the metal bars that shape the vinyl into graceful curves at the ceiling began to fall. The shaking kept going on and on and on, and I felt sure that at any moment the temple would come down around us. I almost would have welcomed it, just to have the shaking stop.

The mind does interesting things to cope with new situations, trying to make them into something familiar, or at least something we can understand. First, the mind asks, is this an earthquake? The ground is continuing to shake, so yes, it decides, this must be an earthquake. I'd never experienced an earthquake before, but of course my mind had some idea of what an earthquake was, having seen footage on TV or dramatizations in movies. OK, the mind says, this is an earthquake. Earthquakes shake the ground violently for a few seconds, break some dishes, and then they stop. But it didn't stop. That's when the mind stops being so useful. My mind was saying, but earthquakes aren't supposed to last this long. This event is not following the rules of earthquakeness! Eventually I started to wonder, what if the shaking never stops? Having broken one rule, maybe all the rules of the universe have been thrown out the window.

Of course it did stop. I've heard reports that the quake lasted for a full minute. I don't know if that's true, but it certainly felt like it. We immediately ran outside (although I noticed later that Paul had taken the time to pick the Buddha up from where it had fallen and place on a zabuton) and I thought it was over. Paul had to remind me, "Aftershocks." The first aftershock, approximately seven minutes later, was a 6.0, still very powerful but not nearly as long. After a quick look at the state of our kitchen in the main house, broken glass everywhere, Paul ran to the guest house to check on Beth and Marcel. Asta was already outside in her crate, but I went inside to retrieve Bishop from our bedroom. He was lying in the middle of our huge bed, ears flattened, but not nearly as freaked as I expected. A few things had fallen off shelves, the drawers beneath the bed were open wide, and there was black dust on our pillows from who knows where, but all in all it looked pretty good. We put the dogs in their crates in a shady portion of the yard where we thought they'd be safe from falling avocados and breadfruit and wouldn't roll downhill when the aftershocks hit. They stayed there for a couple of hours while we assessed and problem-solved. A line had ruptured at the guest house, spewing a geyser of water toward the gulch, so Paul had to run to the front of the property to turn off the main. Both our neighbors offered to link hoses from their houses to ours to provide water, but Paul and Marcel fixed the plumbing before the end of the day and in the interim we made do with buckets. We lost power, but only for a short period of time. Breakfast was a surreal affair, the four of us and a guest, sitting around the table with big eyes, trying to talk and eat cold cereal and not doing either very successfully.

The aftershocks of that and the following days run together in my mind. During that week, there were well over 150 earthquakes. Most were small, and we didn't even notice the vast majority of them, but the vast majority of 150+ still leaves a lot of bumpiness. I remember during one trying to get the dogs on their leashes and out the door. Paul had to tell me, "Forget the leashes," and I followed his lead, picking up a dog (not very comfortably--Bishop grunted) and trotting out. That first day, when Paul had gone to the hardware store, I got tired of trying to grab the dogs and get them out the door I just took them outside and we sat in the shade of the lychee tree while they ate Greenies. It was a beautiful day, and I didn't notice any rumbling while we sat there. By evening we had all settled down a bit and gathered for dinner. It was nice, just the four of us eating potatoes and beans and the first fresh corn from the garden by candlelight. (The power was off for a couple of hours that night.) Then we went up to the temple for our usual evening service by candlelight, which started with a stone-passing. We had done a quick clean-up of the temple earlier, but there was still spattered wax on the floor, and I have to admit feeling some anxiety sitting where I'd stood 12 hours earlier. I think we were all hyper-aware during walking nembutsu. Under the best of circumstances, you can feel a bit of shifting while walking in our small temple, and for about a week I was so sensitive I think I could feel the earth rotating on its axis! The temple probably was doing some settling. When we were inspecting the buildings we noticed that one of the temple's forward posts had moved about six inches. It was interesting to see how the posts and their footings moved in two directions, and different amounts on different sides. I'm sure a geologist could have made something of it.

The Big Island was very lucky, with no casualties and only minor injuries, but of course there are still people suffering. Some people lost their homes, and most people lost something dear to them, if nothing else their peace of mind. Our buildings were red-tagged a week after the earthquake, the foundations determined to be unsafe. All of the buildings but the temple, that is. More than ever, it is the center of our community. We continue to do our own practice there, and we look forward to opening services to the public again very soon. Namo Amida Bu!

::link

 

During the 6.7 earthquake that struck the Big Island a couple of weeks ago, at the Amida Hamlet the fruit didn't fall from the trees; the tools didn't fall from their nails where they hung on the backside of the main house; Paul's scrap lumber dish shelves remained attached to the wall; the beautiful ceramic Buddha didn't move from its position on a table in the main house. But everything on the top shelf walked out of the kitchen cabinets onto the floor; the bathroom medicine cabinet emptied itself into the sink, with the ceramic soap and toothbrush dishes intact; the big computer monitor moved away from the window while turning to face it; chunks shattered from the lid of the toilet tank; the plumbing under the kitchen sink in the main house and leading outside from the guest house cracked and separated, spewing a geyser of water. And, oh yeah, all the buildings walked downhill on their foundations, hoping to get a better view of the ocean.

Paul and I were in the temple when it hit, having our morning service. About halfway through the first paragraph of the Summary of Faith and Practice, the noise started. Initially it sounded like a heavy vehicle nearby or a plane flying overhead, accompanied by vibration. I looked at Paul, and I'm not sure if I voiced my question--Is this an earthquake? He didn't have to answer. In another moment, the noise grew to a roar and the real shaking started. Again, I looked to Paul, with, "What do we do?" written all over my face. (Or so he tells me.) Paul had experienced earthquakes when he lived in California, including the big one in 1989, so as far as I was concerned he was a veteran. We were already standing, on the far side of the temple away from the door, so we moved over to the center support at the wall and huddled together, not quite squatting, arms around each other. I vividly remember seeing my hand covering Paul's head and not knowing how it got there. He had done the same, but I'm not sure how low we crouched, if we actually leaned against the post, how our legs meshed so we didn't knock each other over. The plywood floor didn't really rumble or roll. It was more like it bucked. Paul's bell rolled across the floor. The little golden Buddha, the delicate teapot and cups we use for water offerings, the candles and probably even incense didn't fall--they flew from the altar. Then the metal bars that shape the vinyl into graceful curves at the ceiling began to fall. The shaking kept going on and on and on, and I felt sure that at any moment the temple would come down around us. I almost would have welcomed it, just to have the shaking stop.

The mind does interesting things to cope with new situations, trying to make them into something familiar, or at least something we can understand. First, the mind asks, is this an earthquake? The ground is continuing to shake, so yes, it decides, this must be an earthquake. I'd never experienced an earthquake before, but of course my mind had some idea of what an earthquake was, having seen footage on TV or dramatizations in movies. OK, the mind says, this is an earthquake. Earthquakes shake the ground violently for a few seconds, break some dishes, and then they stop. But it didn't stop. That's when the mind stops being so useful. My mind was saying, but earthquakes aren't supposed to last this long. This event is not following the rules of earthquakeness! Eventually I started to wonder, what if the shaking never stops? Having broken one rule, maybe all the rules of the universe have been thrown out the window.

Of course it did stop. I've heard reports that the quake lasted for a full minute. I don't know if that's true, but it certainly felt like it. We immediately ran outside (although I noticed later that Paul had taken the time to pick the Buddha up from where it had fallen and place on a zabuton) and I thought it was over. Paul had to remind me, "Aftershocks." The first aftershock, approximately seven minutes later, was a 6.0, still very powerful but not nearly as long. After a quick look at the state of our kitchen in the main house, broken glass everywhere, Paul ran to the guest house to check on Beth and Marcel. Asta was already outside in her crate, but I went inside to retrieve Bishop from our bedroom. He was lying in the middle of our huge bed, ears flattened, but not nearly as freaked as I expected. A few things had fallen off shelves, the drawers beneath the bed were open wide, and there was black dust on our pillows from who knows where, but all in all it looked pretty good. We put the dogs in their crates in a shady portion of the yard where we thought they'd be safe from falling avocados and breadfruit and wouldn't roll downhill when the aftershocks hit. They stayed there for a couple of hours while we assessed and problem-solved. A line had ruptured at the guest house, spewing a geyser of water toward the gulch, so Paul had to run to the front of the property to turn off the main. Both our neighbors offered to link hoses from their houses to ours to provide water, but Paul and Marcel fixed the plumbing before the end of the day and in the interim we made do with buckets. We lost power, but only for a short period of time. Breakfast was a surreal affair, the four of us and a guest, sitting around the table with big eyes, trying to talk and eat cold cereal and not doing either very successfully.

The aftershocks of that and the following days run together in my mind. During that week, there were well over 150 earthquakes. Most were small, and we didn't even notice the vast majority of them, but the vast majority of 150+ still leaves a lot of bumpiness. I remember during one trying to get the dogs on their leashes and out the door. Paul had to tell me, "Forget the leashes," and I followed his lead, picking up a dog (not very comfortably--Bishop grunted) and trotting out. That first day, when Paul had gone to the hardware store, I got tired of trying to grab the dogs and get them out the door I just took them outside and we sat in the shade of the lychee tree while they ate Greenies. It was a beautiful day, and I didn't notice any rumbling while we sat there. By evening we had all settled down a bit and gathered for dinner. It was nice, just the four of us eating potatoes and beans and the first fresh corn from the garden by candlelight. (The power was off for a couple of hours that night.) Then we went up to the temple for our usual evening service by candlelight, which started with a stone-passing. We had done a quick clean-up of the temple earlier, but there was still spattered wax on the floor, and I have to admit feeling some anxiety sitting where I'd stood 12 hours earlier. I think we were all hyper-aware during walking nembutsu. Under the best of circumstances, you can feel a bit of shifting while walking in our small temple, and for about a week I was so sensitive I think I could feel the earth rotating on its axis! The temple probably was doing some settling. When we were inspecting the buildings we noticed that one of the temple's forward posts had moved about six inches. It was interesting to see how the posts and their footings moved in two directions, and different amounts on different sides. I'm sure a geologist could have made something of it.

The Big Island was very lucky, with no casualties and only minor injuries, but of course there are still people suffering. Some people lost their homes, and most people lost something dear to them, if nothing else their peace of mind. Our buildings were red-tagged a week after the earthquake, the foundations determined to be unsafe. All of the buildings but the temple, that is. More than ever, it is the center of our community. We continue to do our own practice there, and we look forward to opening services to the public again very soon. Namo Amida Bu!

::link