As I look back on the quake, what I recall most vividly is the sense of power. There have not been many times in my life when I've felt so at the mercy of a destructive force. The earthquakes I knew had all been so brief that by the time I could begin to think, rather than just react, they were over. Not this one. There was plenty of time—about forty-five seconds—to contemplate. For me it is the immense power, and my complete helplessness before it, that remain fixed in the mind. I did not, strangely enough, feel terrified. I had from somewhere a confidence that things would be okay, but nonetheless there was a sense of utter helplessness, of being surrounded by an event too vast to comprehend. To be in the presence of such immense power struck me more with awe than with terror. Even as I write this, a big aftershock hits and again I feel almost privileged, in some strange way, to experience it. “Privilege” might seem a strange word here, but what I think I mean by it, what comes most readily to mind, is John Muir's description of his night on Mount Shasta, his sense of the power of a fierce and devastating winter storm.
As analysts, we are often faced with situations that seem overwhelming. When I treat patients with severely traumatic backgrounds, who have experienced childhood abuse, I feel at times the horror of what I hear and the pervasive destructiveness that I see before me. So here too are experienced not only awe and wonder before a terrible power, but also that sense of helplessness in the face of utter devastation.
As I write this, one week after “the big one” (yet still very much involved in it, with major aftershocks occurring two or three times a day), I'm struck with how we have become temporarily different. We share experiences with neighbors, friends, family, and patients. I found myself this week feeling so much more friendly toward my neighbors, and so much closer to friends and family in distant places. I have also become much more conversational, and in some ways more closely connected, with some of my patients. I find myself sharing more of my personal life with them than I do usually. I don't do this indiscriminately, so I it's not just an irresistible urge to let it all pour out. It seems to me that the time to analyze will come. In some cases, it already has, but this is also a time to share and to connect, so that all of us may be reassured that we are not truly alone.