We could have had lunch together that day
We could have met there so easily;
It was all planned out beforehand and only the day to set
The glass chandeliers were perfect (reminding me of the family aesthetic),
The food divine
The bead shop next door was exactly what we all like
And a special room for guys - with antlers and Woody Crumbo prints
Everything was right for a lovely lunch and some pleasant conversation
... a long but not too long car ride there and back
A straight road and not too much traffic, just cruise
But, instead, you are not there but in a hospital bed
(and we are on the way to see you)....You had......chosen
To do something else that weekend and so had we, then there was....
Some speed, some slush ...a slide, some car rolls, and hanging upside down in the car...battered by skis and cameras....in a creek !
A few pefect people rushing to cut the seat belt
And ease you and your broken neck to the bank
As you shivered in shock, then a miraculous Flight for Life
Helicoper ride to Denver, then an operation and then
Morphine self medication and nurses every few minutes waking you up
And family and loved ones gathered around,
You are going to be OK, we think, and you are talking to us
You, the person who just spent a year overcoming serious cancer,
A miracle within a miracle behind a battered head; bright green eyes peering
and darting to converse and make contact,
And you have not looked in the mirror - thank you very much,
And we are all in shock and in awe;
The young girl, the daughter of your tow truck man, is in and out of consciousness
In the adjoining room. What are the chances of that.
And what were the chances to have a EMT, a cop and
A nurse to rush to your car within seconds out there on Trout Creek Pass
Overlooking the massive snow covered Collegiate Range or is it the other way around?
And in pops the ambulance driver from Salida, the flight crew person, who next?
How is it that the choices we make for what to do today
And where to do it and how - can seem so eerily tightwoven
Into the history of the people and places around us
Like ribbons of multiple faceted threads intertwined in love tangles,
Fraught with possibilites; binding together the
"multiverse" and creating shock and awe.
A family reunion that was unplanned, but full of love and important messages
For all concerned.
No god to thank, just events to ponder; clear and amber crystal chandeliers
With crystal balls for accents and interest; for those who peer into such things.
writings, thoughts, politics, land ethic, land management, southwest, new mexico, santa fe, watershed, world, ecology, plants, current events, blog, art and sculpture. ...
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
The Problem With The Earth is Earthquakes...
The problem with the earth is earthquakes
The problem with the ocean is tsunamis
The problem with nuclear is meltdowns
The problem with people is denial
The problem with denial is painful death
so when the earth weighs in and shakes the buildings down
and the oceans surge forth and drown everything in its path
and the cooling towers fail and spew radiation that destroys life
...the people die painful deaths
And there is nothing we can do about it
Once the die is cast that way
And the bigger the body is
The harder it falls...
And that means we cannot pray our ways out of it
We cannot talk our ways out of it
Nature is God,
In that respect
And the good and the bad die together,
And so our job is to pray for knowledge not denial
And the miracle of truth is that we begin to see
Things for the way they are and not the way we want them to be
And truth is the spiritual principle that we seek
For instance we can begin to ask questions
Such as: are there any big nuclear facilities near us that might contaminate
Or damage our lives somehow?
Are there any forces of nature that we need to look at with open eyes,
Like flood plains or droughts or gas lines or human denials or problems of
such huge scale that pain awaits, like bubbles and corporate greed,
And then do something with those truths in mind.
St. Patrick’s day is so very Irish and a celebration of green,
And Murphy’s law follows in its wake,
Today, on the eve of destruction.
“Let the spirits of green truth flow today” might be a good toast.
The problem with the ocean is tsunamis
The problem with nuclear is meltdowns
The problem with people is denial
The problem with denial is painful death
so when the earth weighs in and shakes the buildings down
and the oceans surge forth and drown everything in its path
and the cooling towers fail and spew radiation that destroys life
...the people die painful deaths
And there is nothing we can do about it
Once the die is cast that way
And the bigger the body is
The harder it falls...
And that means we cannot pray our ways out of it
We cannot talk our ways out of it
Nature is God,
In that respect
And the good and the bad die together,
And so our job is to pray for knowledge not denial
And the miracle of truth is that we begin to see
Things for the way they are and not the way we want them to be
And truth is the spiritual principle that we seek
For instance we can begin to ask questions
Such as: are there any big nuclear facilities near us that might contaminate
Or damage our lives somehow?
Are there any forces of nature that we need to look at with open eyes,
Like flood plains or droughts or gas lines or human denials or problems of
such huge scale that pain awaits, like bubbles and corporate greed,
And then do something with those truths in mind.
St. Patrick’s day is so very Irish and a celebration of green,
And Murphy’s law follows in its wake,
Today, on the eve of destruction.
“Let the spirits of green truth flow today” might be a good toast.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Earth Weighing In
The earth shook and it was shocking
Now what do I do, what do you do?
The turtle jumped from the waters
The elephants paused to get their balance
The seas spilled off the flat earth
I wonder about shock and denial and acceptance
Who to tell and why to bother
Just be quiet and put one foot in front of the other
This is not doomsday, rather, when the earth
joins the party for a moment, weighing in
Shocking, isn’t it?
Now what do I do, what do you do?
The turtle jumped from the waters
The elephants paused to get their balance
The seas spilled off the flat earth
I wonder about shock and denial and acceptance
Who to tell and why to bother
Just be quiet and put one foot in front of the other
This is not doomsday, rather, when the earth
joins the party for a moment, weighing in
Shocking, isn’t it?
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Thorstens Vasorden
This is the Vasorden that Thorsten carved in the Bothaus on Vashon Island in Stockholm. I will add more pics soon, as I find them and download them into the blog. This is fun!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Thorsten 1
I will treasure these photos of my grandfather's work. It is a wonderful
array of extraordinary quality work. Thanks also for the description by Mr.
Mansell. I will pass these on to other family members. Thank you for
taking the time to send the file attachments. I did not know him well,
except as a young child (last time I saw him I was 8) as they were
relatively old when my father was born to them and so died when "we" were
young. He helped us make some carvings in his shop when we visited, but the
time frame was short and the memories vague. I took an interest in wood
myself, probably as a way of finding identity in my heritage; something to
grasp onto, as I knew he was a master and it was something I could be proud
of and could hold onto (literally with genetically gifted wrists and body
build). I moved into custom fine furniture making as a young adult (which
Thorsten also did with his brother in Sweden; making extraordinary
"duplicates" of priceless rococo antique furniture to fill out sets, etc.)
and pretty much have hung that and woodcarving as my shingle for all these
years-then adding on sculpture (bronze, cast iron, glass) to my artistic
pallet, of few pieces you may have seen in the fineartamerica.com website.
I am heartened that Thorsten was very interested in making duplicates by way
of molds and that is what I have done for a piece of his; his carved wedding
bowl-the traditional Swedish wedding tradition and cast it in bronze and
cast iron and glass in my foundry.
The Swedes that I met at the "Vasa" Museum (a different "vasa") were
interested in his work and he wrote about the symbolism he believed to be
inherent in the original carvings of the Vasorden (he re-carved the
ornamentation using a magnifying glass in one hand to interpret the old
photographs and a chisel in the other), which he began to believe were
inspired by Immanual Swedenborg back when the original boat was made as he
was very familiar with the intricate symbolism of the "heavenly kingdom" as
described by Swedenborg who lived in that 18th century era. I believe the
Lutheran Swedes even today were somewhat taken aback by his assertions and
projections about this magnificent carving as it probably challenges the
mainstream culture. According to Val, he saw symbolism everywhere and was a
master of it. Of course his carvings as you have shown - are immersed in
symbolism. I was also interested to learn that, contrary to my assumptions
that my father grew up in a solid monolithic Swedenborgian community in Bryn
Athyn, Philadelphia, that the community had split/factionalized over the
issue of whether one needs an intermediary in order to be in touch with
"God" and he and my grandmother (who wrote a voluminous biography of
Swedenborg) were of the "pray in your closet" variety, something which I am
also proud of.
Hope those details do not rock too many boats.
array of extraordinary quality work. Thanks also for the description by Mr.
Mansell. I will pass these on to other family members. Thank you for
taking the time to send the file attachments. I did not know him well,
except as a young child (last time I saw him I was 8) as they were
relatively old when my father was born to them and so died when "we" were
young. He helped us make some carvings in his shop when we visited, but the
time frame was short and the memories vague. I took an interest in wood
myself, probably as a way of finding identity in my heritage; something to
grasp onto, as I knew he was a master and it was something I could be proud
of and could hold onto (literally with genetically gifted wrists and body
build). I moved into custom fine furniture making as a young adult (which
Thorsten also did with his brother in Sweden; making extraordinary
"duplicates" of priceless rococo antique furniture to fill out sets, etc.)
and pretty much have hung that and woodcarving as my shingle for all these
years-then adding on sculpture (bronze, cast iron, glass) to my artistic
pallet, of few pieces you may have seen in the fineartamerica.com website.
I am heartened that Thorsten was very interested in making duplicates by way
of molds and that is what I have done for a piece of his; his carved wedding
bowl-the traditional Swedish wedding tradition and cast it in bronze and
cast iron and glass in my foundry.
The Swedes that I met at the "Vasa" Museum (a different "vasa") were
interested in his work and he wrote about the symbolism he believed to be
inherent in the original carvings of the Vasorden (he re-carved the
ornamentation using a magnifying glass in one hand to interpret the old
photographs and a chisel in the other), which he began to believe were
inspired by Immanual Swedenborg back when the original boat was made as he
was very familiar with the intricate symbolism of the "heavenly kingdom" as
described by Swedenborg who lived in that 18th century era. I believe the
Lutheran Swedes even today were somewhat taken aback by his assertions and
projections about this magnificent carving as it probably challenges the
mainstream culture. According to Val, he saw symbolism everywhere and was a
master of it. Of course his carvings as you have shown - are immersed in
symbolism. I was also interested to learn that, contrary to my assumptions
that my father grew up in a solid monolithic Swedenborgian community in Bryn
Athyn, Philadelphia, that the community had split/factionalized over the
issue of whether one needs an intermediary in order to be in touch with
"God" and he and my grandmother (who wrote a voluminous biography of
Swedenborg) were of the "pray in your closet" variety, something which I am
also proud of.
Hope those details do not rock too many boats.
Japan and Christchurch earthquakes
Arturo and the Tortoise Shell (or Slipping Through the Cracks)
Arturo’s brother found a turtle shell in the desert and gave it to Arturo, and I met Arturo at the foundry in Vegas, Nuevo Mexico,and I helped him because he had hurt his back, so he went “back” to school to retrain; to be an artist. So I helped him scrape the plaster on the mold of the turtle and turn it around and fight the time, cause plaster of paris can set up on you real quick, so the knife must move fast and his back was not fully up to the task and mine was, at the time. The next time I saw my slight friend, he was painting something special: the patron saint of his village had been stolen recently, the male doll all dressed in fine old handmade lace and the frame would incorporate a litter, so we were talking about how to make it, cause, on Easter Sunday or thereabouts, it was carried he said, “by the majordomos”. I thought there was only one on the acequia system, so I asked why he used the plural and he said, “because the two majordomos and their wives carry it.” I was amazed at that imagery and that archetypal beauty...and that cultural reality. He gave me the mold one day as a gift; the one of the turtle and it is many moons since I have seen my talented friend; as the oil painting was stunning, in my opinion, what with all that lace. I cast the turtle in bronze and clay and glass; thinking it was beautiful and, also, stunning, what with all that perfect back detail- as beautiful in its own way as the lace...my son even wants one - the glass one - and it has been in shows around these parts, touting tortoises.
I know you find them around here, cause one year someone found a turtle on the railroad tracks and we kept it for a while and then decided to let it go.....and Tom found a dried shell up on the top of his mountain. Perhaps our old friend was dropped up there by a hawk ...or an eagle. And I thought of the ancient Greek story that points to the fact that we do not really know when we will die; like the guy in Athens who walked outside onto the streets, and was killed by a turtle dropped by an eagle.
So I was in Christchurch, New Zealand, a few days ago; down by the river to fish. I fished for a few minutes and was leaning as close to the river as I could lean without falling in when, to my horror, I felt the world shake and I spun, somehow, and dived under the electric fence line and crouched on the farmer’s pasture on all fours in horror and I was swearing and one can imagine what I was saying, can’t one? I was all alone, except for the cows, unphased, across the river; chewing the grass and not stampeding!
And now, oddly, I was at the end of the world, and was a survivor myself.. of the staggering devastating forces of nature.......swearing.
So I had a bronze turtle shell that I had never chased totally and was lying around, and I thought of what to do to process that scenario by the river, somehow and I looked at the turtle with its bizarre “head” like the epitome of shock, so I made a sculpture about the earthquake and the water and seeing the broken churches; the bronze turtle with the horrified one eyed head diving out of the grasp of the waters
Then today I woke up early this morning ( 3/11/2011)and saw the news: an earthquake 1000 times the strength of Christchurch (2/22/2011) 200 miles from Tokyo and I saw the devastation one more time; even worse
This time I could relate to it....... and I thought about all those people crouched on the ground or wherever they were - swearing exactly the way I did, probably. And thought about how the spires fell from the cathedral and how ours, in Santa Fe, was, perhaps thankfully, never finished. And I thought about when I was in China many years ago, as a young man, when our interpreter told me the worst swear words in Chinese, one being t.. ma… and the other was the Chinese word for turtle he said, Wang … or wang ba …, which made him and everyone else around blush, back in that halcyon moment. So when I started to think about all this, this morning, while watching a tsunami carry away everything in its path, and a whilrpool vortex larger than a rugby stadium in Christchurch and all the devastation like I had just walked through myself; fires, sirens, collapsed buildings, people placing one foot in fron of the other and in shock and I remembered the rest of the story: the turtle part. You see, the turtle was the one that held up the four elephants that held up the flat earth, and, when tipped, the earth and the waters were fragilly susceptible to breakage and spilage, and so I saw some connections in my new weltanschauung that ties together Arturos back and my Chinese comrades and my sussurous creeks and the tsunamis …….and the questioning eyes of the child I passed by in Christchurch and, intuitively, winked at, as we passed each other ….into the uncertain future........swearing each in our own way, knowing more than we did the day before...each in our own way.....atlas shrugging...turtles diving and swearing.
So the Iriquois, the New Zealanders, the Japanese, the Chinese and the New Mexican sons all have had the turtle standing and diving, and discovered what holds up those turtles......many more turtles, and what holds up the world....those four majordomos just like my friend said...and we all were in shock , even the earth, and we all carried the litter as we could.
Arturo’s brother found a turtle shell in the desert and gave it to Arturo, and I met Arturo at the foundry in Vegas, Nuevo Mexico,and I helped him because he had hurt his back, so he went “back” to school to retrain; to be an artist. So I helped him scrape the plaster on the mold of the turtle and turn it around and fight the time, cause plaster of paris can set up on you real quick, so the knife must move fast and his back was not fully up to the task and mine was, at the time. The next time I saw my slight friend, he was painting something special: the patron saint of his village had been stolen recently, the male doll all dressed in fine old handmade lace and the frame would incorporate a litter, so we were talking about how to make it, cause, on Easter Sunday or thereabouts, it was carried he said, “by the majordomos”. I thought there was only one on the acequia system, so I asked why he used the plural and he said, “because the two majordomos and their wives carry it.” I was amazed at that imagery and that archetypal beauty...and that cultural reality. He gave me the mold one day as a gift; the one of the turtle and it is many moons since I have seen my talented friend; as the oil painting was stunning, in my opinion, what with all that lace. I cast the turtle in bronze and clay and glass; thinking it was beautiful and, also, stunning, what with all that perfect back detail- as beautiful in its own way as the lace...my son even wants one - the glass one - and it has been in shows around these parts, touting tortoises.
I know you find them around here, cause one year someone found a turtle on the railroad tracks and we kept it for a while and then decided to let it go.....and Tom found a dried shell up on the top of his mountain. Perhaps our old friend was dropped up there by a hawk ...or an eagle. And I thought of the ancient Greek story that points to the fact that we do not really know when we will die; like the guy in Athens who walked outside onto the streets, and was killed by a turtle dropped by an eagle.
So I was in Christchurch, New Zealand, a few days ago; down by the river to fish. I fished for a few minutes and was leaning as close to the river as I could lean without falling in when, to my horror, I felt the world shake and I spun, somehow, and dived under the electric fence line and crouched on the farmer’s pasture on all fours in horror and I was swearing and one can imagine what I was saying, can’t one? I was all alone, except for the cows, unphased, across the river; chewing the grass and not stampeding!
And now, oddly, I was at the end of the world, and was a survivor myself.. of the staggering devastating forces of nature.......swearing.
So I had a bronze turtle shell that I had never chased totally and was lying around, and I thought of what to do to process that scenario by the river, somehow and I looked at the turtle with its bizarre “head” like the epitome of shock, so I made a sculpture about the earthquake and the water and seeing the broken churches; the bronze turtle with the horrified one eyed head diving out of the grasp of the waters
Then today I woke up early this morning ( 3/11/2011)and saw the news: an earthquake 1000 times the strength of Christchurch (2/22/2011) 200 miles from Tokyo and I saw the devastation one more time; even worse
This time I could relate to it....... and I thought about all those people crouched on the ground or wherever they were - swearing exactly the way I did, probably. And thought about how the spires fell from the cathedral and how ours, in Santa Fe, was, perhaps thankfully, never finished. And I thought about when I was in China many years ago, as a young man, when our interpreter told me the worst swear words in Chinese, one being t.. ma… and the other was the Chinese word for turtle he said, Wang … or wang ba …, which made him and everyone else around blush, back in that halcyon moment. So when I started to think about all this, this morning, while watching a tsunami carry away everything in its path, and a whilrpool vortex larger than a rugby stadium in Christchurch and all the devastation like I had just walked through myself; fires, sirens, collapsed buildings, people placing one foot in fron of the other and in shock and I remembered the rest of the story: the turtle part. You see, the turtle was the one that held up the four elephants that held up the flat earth, and, when tipped, the earth and the waters were fragilly susceptible to breakage and spilage, and so I saw some connections in my new weltanschauung that ties together Arturos back and my Chinese comrades and my sussurous creeks and the tsunamis …….and the questioning eyes of the child I passed by in Christchurch and, intuitively, winked at, as we passed each other ….into the uncertain future........swearing each in our own way, knowing more than we did the day before...each in our own way.....atlas shrugging...turtles diving and swearing.
So the Iriquois, the New Zealanders, the Japanese, the Chinese and the New Mexican sons all have had the turtle standing and diving, and discovered what holds up those turtles......many more turtles, and what holds up the world....those four majordomos just like my friend said...and we all were in shock , even the earth, and we all carried the litter as we could.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
More about the multiverse
http://thor-sigstedt.blogspot.com/
I have been thinking toaday about some ideas of how things work. I noticed quite a few interesting articles in the New York Times today, March 8, 2011, that relate to the thought that we 1)need to realize that we are working with rational thought and emotions at the same time and need to pay attention to their interconnectedness (david brooks) and that evolution is related to social interaction and reinforcement, so that leads to genetic predispositions for altruism and, also, religion (article about EO Wilson) and the thought that occurred to me was that there is probably a multiplicity of influences that affect genetic heritages and that, as we often do and need to "walk on two legs" or even more legs; as we live in a multiverse and not a universe, with dimensions galore, etc. So that we have the possibility that some people are actually more wired for soldiering and others for peacful activity and that is part of the dynamics that make up how things work on our planet. It explains why opposing ideas seem to be functioning so strongly together. So perhaps it is not as simple as one might think and in some ways, it is. The other article in the Times was about the US Institute of Peace, which is presently threatened right now with no funding, but which has played a strong role in recent worl events, whether we know it or not. And the thinking of Gene Sharp about non-violent action has greatly influenced the Egyptian revolution right now, as well as others. So it is interesting to see the contrast with the fighting in Lybia with the activities and successes in Egypt and other places right now. So, as we continue to affect our own genetics through the successes of our thought and actions, it is good to see that there is a dynamic which we can see played out right in front of us. Unfortunately the fighters and followers of vulgar darwinism make the battle for peace more difficult. The other article that I really liked was about memory and how working with our minds to have a better memory is an act of exciting one's life by making brilliant and creative connections between what we know and what we are learning, associations that make life much more interesting. So I say forge ahead with non zero thinking and all the rest and .....enjoy!
I have been thinking toaday about some ideas of how things work. I noticed quite a few interesting articles in the New York Times today, March 8, 2011, that relate to the thought that we 1)need to realize that we are working with rational thought and emotions at the same time and need to pay attention to their interconnectedness (david brooks) and that evolution is related to social interaction and reinforcement, so that leads to genetic predispositions for altruism and, also, religion (article about EO Wilson) and the thought that occurred to me was that there is probably a multiplicity of influences that affect genetic heritages and that, as we often do and need to "walk on two legs" or even more legs; as we live in a multiverse and not a universe, with dimensions galore, etc. So that we have the possibility that some people are actually more wired for soldiering and others for peacful activity and that is part of the dynamics that make up how things work on our planet. It explains why opposing ideas seem to be functioning so strongly together. So perhaps it is not as simple as one might think and in some ways, it is. The other article in the Times was about the US Institute of Peace, which is presently threatened right now with no funding, but which has played a strong role in recent worl events, whether we know it or not. And the thinking of Gene Sharp about non-violent action has greatly influenced the Egyptian revolution right now, as well as others. So it is interesting to see the contrast with the fighting in Lybia with the activities and successes in Egypt and other places right now. So, as we continue to affect our own genetics through the successes of our thought and actions, it is good to see that there is a dynamic which we can see played out right in front of us. Unfortunately the fighters and followers of vulgar darwinism make the battle for peace more difficult. The other article that I really liked was about memory and how working with our minds to have a better memory is an act of exciting one's life by making brilliant and creative connections between what we know and what we are learning, associations that make life much more interesting. So I say forge ahead with non zero thinking and all the rest and .....enjoy!
Friday, March 4, 2011
Not sure you got the text, which was a ms word document, so I am sending this out to a few of you. Thor:
12:51 O’clock on 02/22/2011 Christchurch, New Zealand: The Christchurch Earthquake As Experienced by Thor Sigstedt, a Santa Fe County resident there for a wedding and then a small fishing adventure
12:51 pm-I mussed with the fishing lines and set up and mussed some more and finally got the tackle and reel the way it needed to be and began fishing in earnest, perfecting my casting and reeling style. A few minutes passed and I was inching myself closer to the creek which was down a bank about 2 or 3 feet and then a tiny shelf of grass and dirt and then it looked like a continued shelf about 2 feet wide, but, upon inspection, it was a swampy zone, quite unsure of footing and one step from falling into the river which was 3 or 4 feet deep, mostly full of weeds about a foot or so down and clear and full. I got no bites from the first cast to the last and I was trying to stretch the rod and line as far out as possible so as to make it easier to bring the line back in without snagging the bank and I did not, of course, have waders. I was inching my way closer to the stream and leaning forward precariously when , all of a sudden, I felt the world shake itself , like a huge dog shaking off water, and the water moved somehow and I felt like I was going to be thrown into the drink. I lurched up to the next level and dove under the electric fence and scambled a few feet more onto the gravel road. It was the type of maneuver one sees in the movies as the people scramble and rush away from the pending explosion of a grenade or a car and then there I was; alone and the world was moving up and down and sideways in such a way that I felt like it was coming to an end. I was hugging something that had absolutely no interest in that and was, in fact, trying to shake this little ant off of it and, frankly, scare the daylights out of it/me. That was the beginning of this saga of the damaging earthquake of 02/22/2011, Christchurch, New Zealand. I think I know now why the fish weren’t biting.
12:00 pm: I had taken a bus out to Belfast, which is the first real sign of rural countryside a few miles north of Christchurch, after having bought a one day fishing license downtown and left them my email address (on the form) and laughingly said that they could contact my family just in case I drowned in the river. He nervously laughed and out I walked to wait for the #16 bus to Belfast. Right in Belfast I was talking to the bus driver, as we have learned to do to avoid big mistakes, and they said they don’t go past this stop and dumped me off to wait for the “Northern star”, the “Blue Bus” (can’t miss it) and I eventually saw one coming my way and flagged it down and got in and stated my destination, but it turned out to be the wrong blue bus; they said, “look for the powder blue bus” and I stepped off onto the walk and waited for the blue bus which eventually came along. I talked to the bus driver and she did not know where Dickie Road was but thought it might be up ahead. We pulled over and discussed it and I thought about going on to the big river and bridge, but decided on going for the road I had scoped out online and with the fishing people, etc. I walked down the road and found the creek instantly and stopped at the bridge and found my way down to the field and creek which was about 3 ½ meters, more or less from an electric fence with just one wire about 18” off the ground. I was interested in the electric fence because I had read in my early research about New Zealand that they had invented the electric fence, so it was quite appropriate to see one here on this farm.
Times of shocks: 12:51-6.3(Richter Scale) then 12:56-4.9 then 1:04-5.7 then 2:50-5.9 with other smaller shocks in between.
From 12:51 on I was in shock, but was not fully aware of it. I knew that something very scary had happened that I was terrified and that I would never see the world the same again. I had a cellphone, Phillip’s, wrapped up in a zip lock bag so as not to get too wet even if I or it fell into the river. It rang somewhere around then and I could not unwrap it quickly enough and lost the call. It rang again and it was Agate, saying that they had experienced it too and that it was, maybe, 5.0 on the Richter Scale (it turned out to be 6.3 on the scale and the most devastating one in all of New Zealand history). I remember saying that I did not think it was an aftershock. Not when the world just acted like a huge engine that had just thrown a rod or the driveshaft had separated at the ujoint or the car had just hit a huge batch of potholes. So I stood there and then another one hit and I hit the ground again. Now, in retrospect, I realize I was in shock because I made the decision to continue fishing for a while and try to make my way up towards the big river, above, the “Waimakariri”, better known as the “Wymack”. I was on the southern branch/tributary of the Wymack, just above and to the west of the Styx River (not the real one, of course). So, I tossed my bobber into the now murky, brown grey waters, standing back a good distance and on a better location. I watched as the river rose and darkened and weeds and twigs were rolling around showing themselves from top to bottom. The fish were still not biting and I was not thinking clearly. I saw a gate on the road above me and saw that the only way to keep going was to go into the bush right by the creek and decided to go home. As I was walking back I began to notice cracks in the road, about ½” or a little more across and long. Hmm….. And so then I was thinking that maybe this was sort of the epicenter or something or I was on some specially vulnerable spot and the earth could open up and swallow me at any moment. Then I saw a crack going the other way where it looked like some sort of grey creamy stuff had briefly squirted out and made a little grey line of wetness across the road. More eerie puzzlement and I crept off the farm. I did notice that the cows across the river in the next field barely had batted an eyelash and were back busily chewing the field. No stampede? No, nothing.
I walked way down to the bus stop on the other side of the road, meaning on the left side of the road which is the side that the traffic was going away from me on, this being a former British colony as it were and keeping the driver’s wheel, etc. on the right side of the car. I waited there for quite a while and then a powder blue bus came by and picked me up. There were only about 5 people on the bus including an older white haired woman across the aisle from me and morbidly obese woman with a pleasant face and a man sitting near the driver and the driver, a young Samoan as it turns out (because we got to know each other some as the day unfolded). I began, after a while, to describe my fishing trip (above) to the passengers and how I almost got thrown into the drink. They began to talk some and then it was unfolding before us; the devastation of the earthquake, which was not local but widespread. First it was little unreinforced cinder block walls for property edge just flattened summarily on the side walk, then whole walls or pieces of them down and in rubble status. People were nervously trying to flag down the bus and acting and looking strange but his route ended back in Belfast and he could not (and would not) pick up any more passengers. So it was this boat we were on and then talk that there were no other busses to be seen and then the driver said his radio was out and then we started to see the sides and fronts and whole buildings down or more damage to previously damaged buildings. Now people were all over the streets and walking up and down the walks in droves and there was the signs of flooding; the same grey stuff everywhere and it was clear this material was oozing from every pore the earth could allow and forming little volcanoey cratery structures or just oozing around. Now it was clear that Christchurch was in crisis; that devastation was the word to describe churches devastated, brick buildings of all sorts shattered and showing the private innards of their interiors in a raw sort of way as if they were architectural sections created by a mad person. At various intervals, say every 30 minutes or so the bus would start to violently rock back and forth as if it had just been hit by a truck or a bomb. The driver decided to take me to Bealey Avenue and our motel area as it was not on his route but probably was on the way to his home and his family that he, too, wished to be with. There was some discussion about God and how the scientists knew nothing and could predict nothing and the scriptures were the only truth, with a few nods by now from the elderly but spry woman and myself. Between ourselves, though, we agreed that this was all about nature and not much more. It was not really a time for religious debate. Oddly enough I had already made up my mind after the earthquake in Haiti, without the slightest clue that I would soon be a part of a deadly one myself. There is deep irony that many of the buildings that were the most damaged in Christchurch were numerous old brick and stone churches, what with their spires and tall structures reaching to the sky and wanting to be the tallest thing around; now their facades were exposed with the wooden lathe from the interiors only showing, stripped of their stateliness. It became clear also that I had managed to catch the last possible bus from Dickey’s Road into town, as all the other buses had stopped service and were either parked or had gone “home” and this was, in fact, one of the only functioning busses around, if you could call this functioning; inching forward in a deadly traffic jam and emergency vehicles screaming by using the grass and treed median as their only pathway. Eventually the driver decided to try to take a side road and let us off. I walked with the older woman to my motel and then showed her on the map where she might walk and offered to go with her, but she insisted on going on alone. She was probably in shock, but fearless, as she admitted that she, frankly, had lived long enough and did not care for life anymore anyway. I, despite great fear, ventured upstairs to our room to get a few things to take with me, noticing that everything was tossed onto the floor except for my laptop which was low to the table and with good rubber feet. I determined to walk out across the central part of town and over to Lincoln/Halswell road where Belle was with her daughter. I must be with my loved one for many reasons.
I set out with a loaded backpack and small camera that I always carry everywhere and a bottle of L and P lemonaid. I decided to take the first cross road that did not look absolutely devastated and not heading right through the heart of town. Because we were taking the Metro busses everywhere earlier, I had already familiarized myself with the city as that was the only way to catch a bus and know where you were going to get to. I headed across through the traffic and onto Barbadoes Street. I continued to record the buildings that were down and watch carefully the people as I began to understand that it was their behavior and appearance that was the most important aspect. I was kind of amazed that they seemed sort of cool and determined in their walking and not expressing much emotion, perhaps talking to each other quietly if they were coupled. There were sirens everywhere, emergency vehicles, water trucks, army vehicles, whistles and helicopters with long cables carrying water tanks to put out the fires. The air was full of smoke and people were covering their noses and mouth with clothing to protect their lungs from the heavy smoke. I stopped a few times to talk to people who were not moving and to inspect the little silt/sand/volcano shaped mounds with water puddle at the top and fine lines of water finding their way down off the mound. They were mesmerizing in their ugliness and their beauty at the same time. I talked about them for quite a while with a young man on a bicycle and who worked as a chef at a Japanese restaurant and he was worried about his job under these circumstances. I was directed not to cross a large bridge due to its instability and walked further to the next one and not seeing anyone telling me not to, crossed it. I noticed people down below who must have been afraid to cross it and were tentatively making their way across the tracks. On the bridge the streetlight was decapitated; the head and bulb and a part of the huge stem lying on the walkway, shattered. As I completed the crossing a huge rumble sounded from the vast ocean of corrugated tin roofs of the warehouse buildings below and I bolted off the bridge like a scared rabbit. I continued walking on Columbo Street for a few miles, the damage being lesser as I entered the newer suburbs with one story brick buildings. After quite a long walk I began to realize that my mind had played a trick on me and that I had taken the wrong street thinking that it was the only street for me, as I had been on it the day before. I realized I had made a huge mistake in navigation. I talked to a few people and reset my course for Lincoln which was probably miles away. It was getting late, towards dark. I was now in a deadly contest with my will and my energy to get me where I wanted to go. I walked through a cemetery and zigged and zagged until I finally reached a place where I had, a few minutes earlier, agreed to meet my relatives in their car. I had not even thought of calling them. Once they picked me up and went into a store for water and I sat slumped with exhaustion in the back seat, I began to realize for the first time that I was in shock and had been for some time now and that, now that I was safer, could acknowledge it to myself, and, eventually, to them. I realized that there was a huge chasm of difference, I thought, between them and me. They were in denial about what was happening to their town and I had just experienced it first hand. It was like you either were there or you weren’t and the place for some shock, like their form, was a sort of denial. I did not have that luxury as there had been too much proof of the damage and the very real crisis. That gulf was never crossed. It turned out the father of the groom, George, had also been right on the city center next to the Cathedral whose spire had fallen to the square and many people had been killed inside. He also had walked here from town.
The water was out and the house was shaking with aftershocks every 45 minutes or so, all through the night and into the next day, in fact till we had boarded the plane. I helped them tap into the gutter system to collect water as it had started to rain. Of course the rain was also a disaster as I had seen many people straining to carry couches, chairs and bedding out of their buildings with an intent of sleeping outside and not in their death trap houses. Now they were sleeping in the rain. This seemed like adding insult to injury; a cruel final joke on the populous. After all, other than the quake in September there had been nothing recorded since 1888! As we slept on mats on the floor of the living room we would be awakened by more shocks and the building shaking. After a while it was sort of commonplace, like a big 18 wheeler had just roared by and shook the house.
We drove into the town the next day, carefully plotting the course to take to avoid the problem areas and picked up the rest of our stuff from the motel. The owners spoke no English and so it was difficult to communicate details but we managed to try to attempt to leave our credit card information and we smiled at each other and held our hands together in prayer gestures and departed. We spoke with everyone we met about our experiences and how we and they were and the people were gracious and kind. It was clear that their lives would be affected for many weeks as they waited to find out if they could continue to school or work and occupy the buildings that must be carefully inspected. We loaded our plane to Melbourne and flew away from Christchurch, the only tremors being the occasional shuddering from hitting some “rough air” up in the sky.
So what I learned was a lot about shock. Mine, theirs, how shock and denial are close cousins, how both are defense and survival mechanisms, how people can get a sort of hollow look as their minds and bodies try to carry them forward to whatever they have to do, how shock to the body and mind are related to the earth itself as it shakes and creates aftershocks, and how they do not even know what causes these earthquakes as they are not right on the big faults out on the ocean shelf and they do not follow the obvious fault lines on the island. It seems odd that the land just continues to shake and does not settle down as it seems to in other places most of the time. It seems odd that such a beautiful place can get so “violent” with such “trouble in paradise”, and the gift is all of the above, as we place the events of our lives and upheavals and disturbances in perspective and learn to carry on and to “love as if we had never been hurt”, but, at least in my case, never forget either. I have a strong memory of a young boy, perhaps 11 years old loitering on a suburban road by himself and gazing curiously at a large crack in the asphalt and him telling me that he had volunteered to help somehow and they put him there with nonone around to help out somehow. He looking sort of lost and I felt lost and I felt like he should have a ribbon or something to wear to show that he was there to help. And I remember passing by a person with her young child in hand and the child glanced up at me with deep blue questioning eyes, begging for an explanation and me winking at her with my reciprocally begging eyes as I passed by …into the uncertain future.
To be continued
12:51 O’clock on 02/22/2011 Christchurch, New Zealand: The Christchurch Earthquake As Experienced by Thor Sigstedt, a Santa Fe County resident there for a wedding and then a small fishing adventure
12:51 pm-I mussed with the fishing lines and set up and mussed some more and finally got the tackle and reel the way it needed to be and began fishing in earnest, perfecting my casting and reeling style. A few minutes passed and I was inching myself closer to the creek which was down a bank about 2 or 3 feet and then a tiny shelf of grass and dirt and then it looked like a continued shelf about 2 feet wide, but, upon inspection, it was a swampy zone, quite unsure of footing and one step from falling into the river which was 3 or 4 feet deep, mostly full of weeds about a foot or so down and clear and full. I got no bites from the first cast to the last and I was trying to stretch the rod and line as far out as possible so as to make it easier to bring the line back in without snagging the bank and I did not, of course, have waders. I was inching my way closer to the stream and leaning forward precariously when , all of a sudden, I felt the world shake itself , like a huge dog shaking off water, and the water moved somehow and I felt like I was going to be thrown into the drink. I lurched up to the next level and dove under the electric fence and scambled a few feet more onto the gravel road. It was the type of maneuver one sees in the movies as the people scramble and rush away from the pending explosion of a grenade or a car and then there I was; alone and the world was moving up and down and sideways in such a way that I felt like it was coming to an end. I was hugging something that had absolutely no interest in that and was, in fact, trying to shake this little ant off of it and, frankly, scare the daylights out of it/me. That was the beginning of this saga of the damaging earthquake of 02/22/2011, Christchurch, New Zealand. I think I know now why the fish weren’t biting.
12:00 pm: I had taken a bus out to Belfast, which is the first real sign of rural countryside a few miles north of Christchurch, after having bought a one day fishing license downtown and left them my email address (on the form) and laughingly said that they could contact my family just in case I drowned in the river. He nervously laughed and out I walked to wait for the #16 bus to Belfast. Right in Belfast I was talking to the bus driver, as we have learned to do to avoid big mistakes, and they said they don’t go past this stop and dumped me off to wait for the “Northern star”, the “Blue Bus” (can’t miss it) and I eventually saw one coming my way and flagged it down and got in and stated my destination, but it turned out to be the wrong blue bus; they said, “look for the powder blue bus” and I stepped off onto the walk and waited for the blue bus which eventually came along. I talked to the bus driver and she did not know where Dickie Road was but thought it might be up ahead. We pulled over and discussed it and I thought about going on to the big river and bridge, but decided on going for the road I had scoped out online and with the fishing people, etc. I walked down the road and found the creek instantly and stopped at the bridge and found my way down to the field and creek which was about 3 ½ meters, more or less from an electric fence with just one wire about 18” off the ground. I was interested in the electric fence because I had read in my early research about New Zealand that they had invented the electric fence, so it was quite appropriate to see one here on this farm.
Times of shocks: 12:51-6.3(Richter Scale) then 12:56-4.9 then 1:04-5.7 then 2:50-5.9 with other smaller shocks in between.
From 12:51 on I was in shock, but was not fully aware of it. I knew that something very scary had happened that I was terrified and that I would never see the world the same again. I had a cellphone, Phillip’s, wrapped up in a zip lock bag so as not to get too wet even if I or it fell into the river. It rang somewhere around then and I could not unwrap it quickly enough and lost the call. It rang again and it was Agate, saying that they had experienced it too and that it was, maybe, 5.0 on the Richter Scale (it turned out to be 6.3 on the scale and the most devastating one in all of New Zealand history). I remember saying that I did not think it was an aftershock. Not when the world just acted like a huge engine that had just thrown a rod or the driveshaft had separated at the ujoint or the car had just hit a huge batch of potholes. So I stood there and then another one hit and I hit the ground again. Now, in retrospect, I realize I was in shock because I made the decision to continue fishing for a while and try to make my way up towards the big river, above, the “Waimakariri”, better known as the “Wymack”. I was on the southern branch/tributary of the Wymack, just above and to the west of the Styx River (not the real one, of course). So, I tossed my bobber into the now murky, brown grey waters, standing back a good distance and on a better location. I watched as the river rose and darkened and weeds and twigs were rolling around showing themselves from top to bottom. The fish were still not biting and I was not thinking clearly. I saw a gate on the road above me and saw that the only way to keep going was to go into the bush right by the creek and decided to go home. As I was walking back I began to notice cracks in the road, about ½” or a little more across and long. Hmm….. And so then I was thinking that maybe this was sort of the epicenter or something or I was on some specially vulnerable spot and the earth could open up and swallow me at any moment. Then I saw a crack going the other way where it looked like some sort of grey creamy stuff had briefly squirted out and made a little grey line of wetness across the road. More eerie puzzlement and I crept off the farm. I did notice that the cows across the river in the next field barely had batted an eyelash and were back busily chewing the field. No stampede? No, nothing.
I walked way down to the bus stop on the other side of the road, meaning on the left side of the road which is the side that the traffic was going away from me on, this being a former British colony as it were and keeping the driver’s wheel, etc. on the right side of the car. I waited there for quite a while and then a powder blue bus came by and picked me up. There were only about 5 people on the bus including an older white haired woman across the aisle from me and morbidly obese woman with a pleasant face and a man sitting near the driver and the driver, a young Samoan as it turns out (because we got to know each other some as the day unfolded). I began, after a while, to describe my fishing trip (above) to the passengers and how I almost got thrown into the drink. They began to talk some and then it was unfolding before us; the devastation of the earthquake, which was not local but widespread. First it was little unreinforced cinder block walls for property edge just flattened summarily on the side walk, then whole walls or pieces of them down and in rubble status. People were nervously trying to flag down the bus and acting and looking strange but his route ended back in Belfast and he could not (and would not) pick up any more passengers. So it was this boat we were on and then talk that there were no other busses to be seen and then the driver said his radio was out and then we started to see the sides and fronts and whole buildings down or more damage to previously damaged buildings. Now people were all over the streets and walking up and down the walks in droves and there was the signs of flooding; the same grey stuff everywhere and it was clear this material was oozing from every pore the earth could allow and forming little volcanoey cratery structures or just oozing around. Now it was clear that Christchurch was in crisis; that devastation was the word to describe churches devastated, brick buildings of all sorts shattered and showing the private innards of their interiors in a raw sort of way as if they were architectural sections created by a mad person. At various intervals, say every 30 minutes or so the bus would start to violently rock back and forth as if it had just been hit by a truck or a bomb. The driver decided to take me to Bealey Avenue and our motel area as it was not on his route but probably was on the way to his home and his family that he, too, wished to be with. There was some discussion about God and how the scientists knew nothing and could predict nothing and the scriptures were the only truth, with a few nods by now from the elderly but spry woman and myself. Between ourselves, though, we agreed that this was all about nature and not much more. It was not really a time for religious debate. Oddly enough I had already made up my mind after the earthquake in Haiti, without the slightest clue that I would soon be a part of a deadly one myself. There is deep irony that many of the buildings that were the most damaged in Christchurch were numerous old brick and stone churches, what with their spires and tall structures reaching to the sky and wanting to be the tallest thing around; now their facades were exposed with the wooden lathe from the interiors only showing, stripped of their stateliness. It became clear also that I had managed to catch the last possible bus from Dickey’s Road into town, as all the other buses had stopped service and were either parked or had gone “home” and this was, in fact, one of the only functioning busses around, if you could call this functioning; inching forward in a deadly traffic jam and emergency vehicles screaming by using the grass and treed median as their only pathway. Eventually the driver decided to try to take a side road and let us off. I walked with the older woman to my motel and then showed her on the map where she might walk and offered to go with her, but she insisted on going on alone. She was probably in shock, but fearless, as she admitted that she, frankly, had lived long enough and did not care for life anymore anyway. I, despite great fear, ventured upstairs to our room to get a few things to take with me, noticing that everything was tossed onto the floor except for my laptop which was low to the table and with good rubber feet. I determined to walk out across the central part of town and over to Lincoln/Halswell road where Belle was with her daughter. I must be with my loved one for many reasons.
I set out with a loaded backpack and small camera that I always carry everywhere and a bottle of L and P lemonaid. I decided to take the first cross road that did not look absolutely devastated and not heading right through the heart of town. Because we were taking the Metro busses everywhere earlier, I had already familiarized myself with the city as that was the only way to catch a bus and know where you were going to get to. I headed across through the traffic and onto Barbadoes Street. I continued to record the buildings that were down and watch carefully the people as I began to understand that it was their behavior and appearance that was the most important aspect. I was kind of amazed that they seemed sort of cool and determined in their walking and not expressing much emotion, perhaps talking to each other quietly if they were coupled. There were sirens everywhere, emergency vehicles, water trucks, army vehicles, whistles and helicopters with long cables carrying water tanks to put out the fires. The air was full of smoke and people were covering their noses and mouth with clothing to protect their lungs from the heavy smoke. I stopped a few times to talk to people who were not moving and to inspect the little silt/sand/volcano shaped mounds with water puddle at the top and fine lines of water finding their way down off the mound. They were mesmerizing in their ugliness and their beauty at the same time. I talked about them for quite a while with a young man on a bicycle and who worked as a chef at a Japanese restaurant and he was worried about his job under these circumstances. I was directed not to cross a large bridge due to its instability and walked further to the next one and not seeing anyone telling me not to, crossed it. I noticed people down below who must have been afraid to cross it and were tentatively making their way across the tracks. On the bridge the streetlight was decapitated; the head and bulb and a part of the huge stem lying on the walkway, shattered. As I completed the crossing a huge rumble sounded from the vast ocean of corrugated tin roofs of the warehouse buildings below and I bolted off the bridge like a scared rabbit. I continued walking on Columbo Street for a few miles, the damage being lesser as I entered the newer suburbs with one story brick buildings. After quite a long walk I began to realize that my mind had played a trick on me and that I had taken the wrong street thinking that it was the only street for me, as I had been on it the day before. I realized I had made a huge mistake in navigation. I talked to a few people and reset my course for Lincoln which was probably miles away. It was getting late, towards dark. I was now in a deadly contest with my will and my energy to get me where I wanted to go. I walked through a cemetery and zigged and zagged until I finally reached a place where I had, a few minutes earlier, agreed to meet my relatives in their car. I had not even thought of calling them. Once they picked me up and went into a store for water and I sat slumped with exhaustion in the back seat, I began to realize for the first time that I was in shock and had been for some time now and that, now that I was safer, could acknowledge it to myself, and, eventually, to them. I realized that there was a huge chasm of difference, I thought, between them and me. They were in denial about what was happening to their town and I had just experienced it first hand. It was like you either were there or you weren’t and the place for some shock, like their form, was a sort of denial. I did not have that luxury as there had been too much proof of the damage and the very real crisis. That gulf was never crossed. It turned out the father of the groom, George, had also been right on the city center next to the Cathedral whose spire had fallen to the square and many people had been killed inside. He also had walked here from town.
The water was out and the house was shaking with aftershocks every 45 minutes or so, all through the night and into the next day, in fact till we had boarded the plane. I helped them tap into the gutter system to collect water as it had started to rain. Of course the rain was also a disaster as I had seen many people straining to carry couches, chairs and bedding out of their buildings with an intent of sleeping outside and not in their death trap houses. Now they were sleeping in the rain. This seemed like adding insult to injury; a cruel final joke on the populous. After all, other than the quake in September there had been nothing recorded since 1888! As we slept on mats on the floor of the living room we would be awakened by more shocks and the building shaking. After a while it was sort of commonplace, like a big 18 wheeler had just roared by and shook the house.
We drove into the town the next day, carefully plotting the course to take to avoid the problem areas and picked up the rest of our stuff from the motel. The owners spoke no English and so it was difficult to communicate details but we managed to try to attempt to leave our credit card information and we smiled at each other and held our hands together in prayer gestures and departed. We spoke with everyone we met about our experiences and how we and they were and the people were gracious and kind. It was clear that their lives would be affected for many weeks as they waited to find out if they could continue to school or work and occupy the buildings that must be carefully inspected. We loaded our plane to Melbourne and flew away from Christchurch, the only tremors being the occasional shuddering from hitting some “rough air” up in the sky.
So what I learned was a lot about shock. Mine, theirs, how shock and denial are close cousins, how both are defense and survival mechanisms, how people can get a sort of hollow look as their minds and bodies try to carry them forward to whatever they have to do, how shock to the body and mind are related to the earth itself as it shakes and creates aftershocks, and how they do not even know what causes these earthquakes as they are not right on the big faults out on the ocean shelf and they do not follow the obvious fault lines on the island. It seems odd that the land just continues to shake and does not settle down as it seems to in other places most of the time. It seems odd that such a beautiful place can get so “violent” with such “trouble in paradise”, and the gift is all of the above, as we place the events of our lives and upheavals and disturbances in perspective and learn to carry on and to “love as if we had never been hurt”, but, at least in my case, never forget either. I have a strong memory of a young boy, perhaps 11 years old loitering on a suburban road by himself and gazing curiously at a large crack in the asphalt and him telling me that he had volunteered to help somehow and they put him there with nonone around to help out somehow. He looking sort of lost and I felt lost and I felt like he should have a ribbon or something to wear to show that he was there to help. And I remember passing by a person with her young child in hand and the child glanced up at me with deep blue questioning eyes, begging for an explanation and me winking at her with my reciprocally begging eyes as I passed by …into the uncertain future.
To be continued
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