A picture taken on the side of my house.

This past week, many of the neighborhoods that had burned to the ground in my hometown opened to the public again. Personally I have been sifting through the pit of gray soot and ash that was my mother’s house, looking for whatever we can recover of her belongings. Nothing is more humbling than witnessing the power of fire. Plastic, wood, metal, and even stone are disintegrated in its wake.  As I drive through the streets that were the bustling neighborhoods of my friends, I am deeply stricken by a profound experience of impermanence.

It is no wonder that ashes are a symbol of repentance and humility: ashes to ashes.  There is a ghostly feeling as you witness the complete annihilation of the rows of dwellings we don’t just call home, but where we feel home.  With houses destroyed, displacement happens, neighborhoods and families torn apart.  For me, my mother had to move thousands of miles away.  For a dear friend, because of health issues, her family has had to split up to keep her husband away from the potentially unhealthy environment.  Students struggle to attend classes now that they are homeless.  Life becomes unbearably chaotic when even the basic necessities become a challenge.  At our local Junior College, hundreds of young students are dropping out, too burdened with finding a place to sleep and with no notes or binders to study from. Even in the high school choir concert we attended last night, the performers wore polo shirts and jeans, because the formal wear of so many students is gone.  My daughter notices how many of her fellow students now wear the same shoes and jackets day after day.

The layers of losses to our community are staggering.  And the pain ripples out to the stress of others feeling so inadequate and useless to be of help, no matter how much we would like to be.  There are no words that can make things better or bring back what has been destroyed. Profound loss changes us.  I have heard the term Zero Point used in grief groups.  The Zero Point is the instant everything changed, from which every future event would be dated and every previous plan or expectation had to be mourned.  Attachment is the root of suffering, Buddha teaches.  Healing involves an intense process of letting go.

And yet, already on our hill, green grass is poking through the charred cinders of burned foliage.  In my local coffee shop, tables are filled with people reviewing architectural plans and FEMA tents and United Way donation centers pop up around town on a daily basis.  It will take a long, long  time to clean up and rebuild, and some may never be able to replace what they have lost. But for all of us survivors, our lives will inevitably move forward, as nothing stays the same.  We will forever be both blessed and burdened with with a new understanding that will rise from the ashes.  A friend who lost everything in a flood several years back told me, while it was a hellish period of her life, the blessing was that possessions never had as much power over her again.  The experienced bereaved will tell you with great wisdom that the Zero Point is not just an ending, but also a beginning.