(no subject)
I have a weird reaction to trauma, I think. When I get freaked out, or particularly stressed, or something awful happens, I write.
I’ve been struggling to put into words how I was affected by the quake yesterday. It hasn’t been easy - mainly because as soon as I approach the actual event in my mind something twists around in there and I start crying and shaking just a little bit.
I found this, though. As you can see from the date, it was written almost three years ago, right before I moved down here to Christchurch. I think it’s a good place to start.
“Monday, 14 April 2008
… I got as far as Cathedral Square, and anyone that has been to Christchurch will know why I was caught there.
The Christchurch Cathedral is … well, there are no words to capture the sensation of this sacred place. The photos I’ve taken don’t do it justice: how could I hope to do any better with my words?
I’ll try, but bear in mind that words alone are never going to be enough to evoke the feelings washing through me as I walked out of that cathedral.
There is a war memorial to the left of the cathedral, and it is the most magnificent memorial I have ever seen. It is a tiered platform topped with a cross; upon the platforms are six larger than life statues (cast from bronze, I think), all bar one bearing inscriptions which I can’t help but think of their names: Sacrifice, Justice, Peace, Valour, and Youth. The sixth bears no name, but she has angel’s wings and is highest upon a memorial for the fallen, so I cannot help but think of her as the psychopomp Gabriel.
Even though the merciful guide of souls on their way to heaven was beautiful, I couldn’t help but think of Sacrifice as the most beautiful of all six. She has a scarf upon her head and holds both hands palm up and out at her sides. She is serene, and that serenity filled me even as I froze her image into my camera.
I want you to understand this, because it was with this sense of serenity - borne from gazing upon Sacrifice, no less - that I walked into the Christchurch Cathedral.
I walked through the doors and into this vast, looming space, and I just stopped.
The ceiling was a good ten metres above me (although it felt like much, much more), and the other end of the cathedral was far off in the distance. I was dwarfed by the sheer amount of it all.
But here’s the thing. All that space, all that volume: it wasn’t empty. It took what I had inside me, washed it with the colours of that place - and gave it back.
I get it now. I see why people hold this inside them, how the majesty and serenity of the sacred can feed what is already there - fan the flames and make them burn brighter, higher.
I get it. I think I found what I came down here for, and I didn’t even know I was looking for it until now. In that cathedral, I found a peace and serenity that I have not known in a long, long time.”
And now I watch the news and see that very same cathedral is, effectively, rubble - or, at the very least, it lies in ruins. I think what really affected me was a picture someone had managed to snap from inside. That awe-inspiring vastness was gone; it was just a broken building, scattered with rubble and indicative of the damage to Christchurch as a whole.
It's like Christchurch has been ripped in two. Here in Upper Riccarton, we have power and hot water, and it's no different than when the other one hit. But just down the road, buildings have collapsed, rubble scatters the street, and ... and people are dead.
That's what scares me, I think. TV3 was describing the scenes of Central City with words like "pandemonium" and "anarchy". Those words aren't quite right; they're too ... too human, too vibrant.
Earthquakes have no humanity to them. They don't live, they don't think or feel. This was the Void reaching out to grab and devour. That's what it was like when this quake hit: it was a roaring, grinding machine beneath our feet, and all my friends were shouting and yelling, and there wasn't a single goddamn thing I could do to help anyone. It's the helplessness that gets me, the realisation that if things had gone differently, I or my friends could be gone - and, for all I know, that could still happen.
So now I wake up crying and afraid. I jump at the slightest rumble or growl. I trawl the interent over and over again to make sure people are still there, and I spend all night clinging to my girlfriend.
This will get better, I know. The city will pick itself up, and put itself back together. The Void will retreat, and we'll be one city again.
The sooner, the better.
I’ve been struggling to put into words how I was affected by the quake yesterday. It hasn’t been easy - mainly because as soon as I approach the actual event in my mind something twists around in there and I start crying and shaking just a little bit.
I found this, though. As you can see from the date, it was written almost three years ago, right before I moved down here to Christchurch. I think it’s a good place to start.
“Monday, 14 April 2008
… I got as far as Cathedral Square, and anyone that has been to Christchurch will know why I was caught there.
The Christchurch Cathedral is … well, there are no words to capture the sensation of this sacred place. The photos I’ve taken don’t do it justice: how could I hope to do any better with my words?
I’ll try, but bear in mind that words alone are never going to be enough to evoke the feelings washing through me as I walked out of that cathedral.
There is a war memorial to the left of the cathedral, and it is the most magnificent memorial I have ever seen. It is a tiered platform topped with a cross; upon the platforms are six larger than life statues (cast from bronze, I think), all bar one bearing inscriptions which I can’t help but think of their names: Sacrifice, Justice, Peace, Valour, and Youth. The sixth bears no name, but she has angel’s wings and is highest upon a memorial for the fallen, so I cannot help but think of her as the psychopomp Gabriel.
Even though the merciful guide of souls on their way to heaven was beautiful, I couldn’t help but think of Sacrifice as the most beautiful of all six. She has a scarf upon her head and holds both hands palm up and out at her sides. She is serene, and that serenity filled me even as I froze her image into my camera.
I want you to understand this, because it was with this sense of serenity - borne from gazing upon Sacrifice, no less - that I walked into the Christchurch Cathedral.
I walked through the doors and into this vast, looming space, and I just stopped.
The ceiling was a good ten metres above me (although it felt like much, much more), and the other end of the cathedral was far off in the distance. I was dwarfed by the sheer amount of it all.
But here’s the thing. All that space, all that volume: it wasn’t empty. It took what I had inside me, washed it with the colours of that place - and gave it back.
I get it now. I see why people hold this inside them, how the majesty and serenity of the sacred can feed what is already there - fan the flames and make them burn brighter, higher.
I get it. I think I found what I came down here for, and I didn’t even know I was looking for it until now. In that cathedral, I found a peace and serenity that I have not known in a long, long time.”
And now I watch the news and see that very same cathedral is, effectively, rubble - or, at the very least, it lies in ruins. I think what really affected me was a picture someone had managed to snap from inside. That awe-inspiring vastness was gone; it was just a broken building, scattered with rubble and indicative of the damage to Christchurch as a whole.
It's like Christchurch has been ripped in two. Here in Upper Riccarton, we have power and hot water, and it's no different than when the other one hit. But just down the road, buildings have collapsed, rubble scatters the street, and ... and people are dead.
That's what scares me, I think. TV3 was describing the scenes of Central City with words like "pandemonium" and "anarchy". Those words aren't quite right; they're too ... too human, too vibrant.
Earthquakes have no humanity to them. They don't live, they don't think or feel. This was the Void reaching out to grab and devour. That's what it was like when this quake hit: it was a roaring, grinding machine beneath our feet, and all my friends were shouting and yelling, and there wasn't a single goddamn thing I could do to help anyone. It's the helplessness that gets me, the realisation that if things had gone differently, I or my friends could be gone - and, for all I know, that could still happen.
So now I wake up crying and afraid. I jump at the slightest rumble or growl. I trawl the interent over and over again to make sure people are still there, and I spend all night clinging to my girlfriend.
This will get better, I know. The city will pick itself up, and put itself back together. The Void will retreat, and we'll be one city again.
The sooner, the better.