Predicting natural disasters like earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and tsunamis eludes scientists. If the most-sophisticated seismographic equipment used by experts can't accurately foretell when and where such phenomena will occur, is there anything that can be done? Yes! Let the Muse speak. Learn to listen to its language. Everyone has a Muse, but only poets and other writers/artists seem capable of cognizing it--and we don't do a very good job of interpreting its messages.
Poets casually refer to the Muse, but until the earthquake, tsunami and aftermath of the March 11 disaster in Japan, I didn't realize the extent to which this misunderstood intuitive voice can act beyond inspiring humans to write mostly about love, death and God. The Muse can save lives, or at least serve as a warning system. Collectively, comparison of data from many people's muses might fill in the gaps sensitive equipment misses. Poets as a group could function as Psychic Seismographs if someone organized them. Might that person be you?
My Muse did not stave off the disaster in Japan, but it did take over my mind long enough to write the following e-mail that described how I felt in the 48 hours before the manifestation of the quake and tsunami.
Intention was to send it to all poets in my voluminous Senior Poets Laureate address book, which contains more than 1000 names of poets past 50. My hotmail service allows me to send only around 200 e-mails per day, so when I reached the quota, I decided to continue sending the e- mail flashes the next day. That never transpired.
When my e-mail hit the inboxes of poets on the 2011 portion of the SPL list, an avalanche of replies filled my inbox. Responses were so voluminous and fascinating that I was never able to finish sending out the Flash to everyone else on the mailing list. Therefore, I share it here so you can read it as it appeared in the only round of mailings that went out. Responses continue to come in as poets share the message with friends and loved ones. It appears we senior poets have just kicked off a movement that is spreading around the world. Here is how it began:
Friday, 3/11/11
To: All poets in the SPL Address Book
From: Wanda Sue Parrott
The tsunami first hit here this morning, about a half mile from my house, with a wave of 2 ft. 4 in. Apparently second, third and subsequent waves are coming in higher just north of here in Santa Cruz, then sweeping south, but I am in no danger.
Thanks to those of you who wondered about me. The greatest effect I felt was the brain affliction or affectation that started about 36 hours before the quake(s) actually began to rumble in Japan.
You, too, may have had forewarnings that made you question your own, or a loved one's, sanity.
Mine began Wed. at midday with great fatigue, which I blamed on having been drilled by the dentist without anesthesia, for a tooth that seemed "he was drilling all the way to China." I was flopping with total drain of energy and went to bed at 8 p.m., waking on Thurs. at 4:38 a.m. Later, I sensed a disaster but did not identify it because I thought I was having brain meltdown due to buzz-bombardment from too much e-stuff. I tried to offset it by fixing some organic food, like homemade potato salad and a steamed veggie meal with onions, cabbage and Zucchini with cheese on Thurs. night. It was, by then, mid-afternoon on Fri. in Japan.
I also sensed a great need to cry, but could not do it. I attributed it to the fact SC, the young man who stole my wallets in 2008 was finally sentenced, departed yesterday at 3:30 a.m. for prison after getting a 7-year sentence for the crime. He was a trusted friend who used to cat sit for me. I sensed great sorrow, and attributed it to this case.
So guess what I did to lift and crack my frozen spirits: yesterday afternoon I went out driving in my car and barked like a dog as loudly as I could to get myself balanced. I barked and barked, the ARF--RUFF--WOOF sequence--which I taught my creative writing students as a way to break writer's block--but it did not resolve the problem, although such a barking exercise always works to restore a semblance of balance.
The earth was stressed out and straining, until the temblor released it from captivity. Or, like a vast orgasm releases pent-up sexual tension in a love poem!
Writers are sensitives... each of us is a medium... an in-betweener. You probably felt something odd also. Native Americans call the supreme connector Great Spirit, and the planet Mother Earth. The Unknown Indian who helped me write "The Trail of Tears" book referred to The Place of Weeping Waters. I used to think it meant my flood/sewage-ravaged property in Missouri, but now realize it means the whole earth.
A noticeable outer sign that something was about to happen was evident in the sudden halt to entries in the 2011 Senior Poets Laureate Competition. For days, not one entry was received.
After the quake hit Japan, e-entries started to arrive in my inbox! We have just received our 100th entry. The muse works in mysterious ways, great wonders to perform! Thank you.
Please examine how you felt during the 48 hours prior to the quake in Japan (Friday 3/11/11). You might be surprised to find you, too, were sensitive to what Nature was preparing to do, and you could not identify the inexplicable cause of your discomfort.
In the next edition of The Diploemat, we are planning a surprise challenge as regards the White Buffalo Native American Poet Laureate contest. Watch for it around the end of March via e-mail and, if moved, please enter this unusual event.
A tidal wave of responses flooded into my inbox. Poet after poet shared accounts of inexplicable pre-quake sensitivity, mood changes, and loss of physical and mental energy prior to the 9.0 magnitude quake. Only one poet claimed to have had no precognitive experience, and another said, "I don't worry about things I can't change." The mail kept coming all weekend, and I never got to finish sending out the initial Flash.
Two animal-related responses came from Buffalo Tribe honorary chiefs Barbara Callahan Quin (LittleCrow WalkingEagle), Missouri, and Yvonne Londres, (Dances with Poetry), Texas. They are co-sponsors of the 2011 White Buffalo Native American Poet Laureate Contest mentioned elsewhere in this newsletter. Barbara, who is a dog person, questioned why I bark like a dog since I am a cat mom. I couldn't give a logical answer.
Yvonne admitted she is a cat person and, when under stress, "I meow like a cat." The poet who has won numerous beauty-queen pageants also said, " I think my family will really like reading the part about me meowing like a cat under stress. They keep telling me someday I am going to forget and get upset out in public and start meowing, and one day I really did it in an office without even thinking about it. The meow just came out of me in front of strangers. I just laughed."
The most unusual reply was an invitation to teach a writers workshop in which dog barking is taught to break writer's block. No date has yet been set, but I am already planning to open the event by sharing another of our favorite slogans at Amy Kitchener's Angels Without Wings Fdn.: Poetry should be fun.