hard rain

"And I'll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my songs well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall."

Last night, as I was driving from San Francisco north on 101 to Forestville, Dylan's Hard Rain came up on my iPod shuffle. A few lines into it, I was sobbing.

The night before the tsunami in Japan I had a nightmare that San Francisco was flooded and I couldn't find my son. I woke to a phone call from a friend back east, concerned that I was okay. She said she'd heard San Francisco was going to be hit by a tsunami. From that moment on, it's felt like I don't know the difference anymore between dreamtime and waking time.

Back in the last century, I spent a lot of time fighting nuclear power and nuclear weapons. My spiritual community was forged in this endeavor, many of us being arrested time and time again practicing civil disobedience to stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons and power. Tonight, so many decades later, there are nuclear reactors melting down in Japan. A hard rain is falling and will continue to fall.

I find myself crying easily and regularly. My altar has on it a globe on which I have circled Japan with a heart and many drawings and prayers. I feel a great tenderness towards everything and everyone, and a gratitude for every sign of spring that shows itself.

What else can we do? I am sure there is plenty. This year I plan to seriously tackle getting solar panels on my roof. I will continue to walk more, drive less. Money will be sent to those doing work to shut down reactors. Time will be spent and energy expended. But, for right now, I think crying and tuning into the beauty of the spring blossoms is about all I can manage. And praying.

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