Warning: this post pertains to Hurricane Katrina.
This morning while at All Souls', Berkeley, I found myself thinking of the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The sermon given mentioned fires in California, and the experience of realizing how temporary "ownership" is. And there I was, in Berkeley, California... and I could smell in my nostrils the stench of standing water and possessions in various states of decay. I could see the foundation of my house (that was all that was left) and remember the "treasure hunting" for personal belongings. Not wanting to start crying when I had just met these people, I thought of kittens and puppies playing with rainbows behind them. Anything, really, to keep my heart from breaking again thinking about what my family, my hometown, went through five years ago.
Maybe it's because I've spent the past year reading about Katrina, or maybe it's because I'm a little homesick. Or maybe it's because once I say that I'm from the Mississippi Gulf Coast (maybe I should pretend I'm from Illinois, right?), Katrina and the Oil Spill come up. And I'm used to that. I even got that in Oxford, MS. And for most of that small talk, I can compartmentalize the pain and sadness.
Something about today. Something about the combination of forces of homesickness, the way the priest giving the sermon talked so plainly and passionately about the experience of loss. There are a few times when I've felt overwhelmed by emotion enough to walk out of a church (interesting reaction, huh?)... and this was one of the times.
No matter how much I process Katrina, she'll always piss me off/make me depressed. In that order.
There's so much about this experience so far that is new and exciting with a lot of opportunities, but there's not much familiarity. I suppose I'll have to wait a while for things to get familiar and routine.
I apologize for the sappiness/non-chirpiness of this post.
Goodnight.
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