The hurricane hit in 1969, br no matter that it came from inside me. br It was the Big One, a raging fury br that uprooted all pilings, divested me br of moorings and infrastructure, br left me reaching up br from a broken roof of desperation br on a dark night without shelter, br left nothing to start again with br but a seed, very deep within. br br I wrote a poem years later that began, br “none can imagine br the ocean of suffering br some minds are drowning in, br as none can imagine br the sea of joy br some other minds have found.” br br Today I watch the people in New Orleans br bereft, clinging to their rooftops, br huddling in a flooding stadium. br I can’t feel how hot it is there, br or what it's like when the toilets br and water taps don’t work, br there’s no food, br a stinking river is rising, br and you don’t know where your wife is. br TV offers a hint of the devastation, br imagination refuses to flesh out the rest. br br The seed of my own new life, br after Shiva* finished off the old, br has flourished. I’m a man br with a profession, a wife and a house— br thirty-five years spent to attain br some balance and try to keep br the flame of inner life alive. br br I don’t understand the ways of God. br It could all be gone again tomorrow. br If that happened—and I were fully aware— br I should prostrate on the ground and thank Him. br br br *Shiva—the Hindu god of Destruction, part of the trinity that also includes Brahma (Creation) and Vishnu (Preservation) . Destruction= the beginning of a new cycle of creation.