Oh, the Humanity.

That was the tortured phrase I recall hearing as a kid whenever some documentary re-ran the explosion of the Hindenberg over Lakewood, NJ. It could easily be repeated today in the aftermath of the massive, historic earthquake and tsunami that was its wake in Japan.

We watch it from what we mis-perceive as the safety of our living rooms so far away from the operative events. We must mis-perceive it because the reality--that it cuold easily be happening here--is too much to accept.

I was in the elevator on the way to my office this morning. A young security guard next to me looked at the mini-TV screen with a photograph of the seminal scene of water washing across the countryside carrying with it cars, and barns, and houses in endless number. He said that he had seen these things in movies, but this. . .this was real, no movie, Real carnage courtesy of a sometimes too cruel nature.

Last night, they spoke of one death. Today, it was 1,000. Many bodies were found in one place. Drowned. What terror to see the water in torrent at your heels and unable to escape.

If it was me, what would I do, what could I do in my last seconds?

The line between life and death, I think I have somewhere read, is made of gossamer thread. Events so egregious as this put an uncomfortable kleig light on that fact of fragile existence.

I am trying to figure what my conclusion should be to this entry. And I just don't know. Faith offers something in these moments, but it is hard to grasp. I might even say, we resist grasping. All we can say, is no, please God, no. Not again. How long O Lord?

Requiescat in pacem.