Strength For Those on the Front Lines, Australia Fires
Feb 10th, 2009 | 3 responses
As I put up on TMV yesterday, whole families were lost by being trapped in their houses or trying to run away in their cars or on foot. The fires chased them and killed them. Entire towns have streets with blackened bodies lying where they were caught by the fire…
and the nurses, doctors, civilians and soldiers who are doing search and rescue… please pray for them too…
for there is a phenomenon little spoken about amongst those of us who are trauma specialists… it is called secondary trauma.
It is a kind of functional shock, meaning one can go on with great strength and focus, effectively helping others through a horrific disaster site, but the flashbacks of some of the horrendous sights, smells and sounds the helper witnessed firsthand … these are recorded by the psyche, by the body, by the spirit and soul…
and often enough start trying to take one’s mind, heart or spirit apart for many weeks, months, even years afterward. Flashbacks, nightmares, ‘unscheduled’ tearing-up, staring off into space, isolating, et al… all these have to be dealt with. It isn’t that the person is weak at all. It is that they are fully human.
This secondary traumatization is what well-trained helpers of all kinds knowingly face in order to do their work to assist the injured, dying and dead. The symptoms of secondary trauma sometimes do not surface until months after the mission has closed. Even though we’re trained to know what to do to deal with it all, it can be twenty miles of washboard road for a time.
If anyone has a poem to leave as a prayer in the comments here, it is likely some of our Aussie readers will send it forward to others who are in need, helpers, front-liners, and others.
Kentuckian Wendell Berry is a poet so of the land and of independent spirit, he could have been an Aussie himself. He wrote about how the world assails so deeply and what to do to ever protect the spirit: This is the last line of his poem, “The Mad Farmer’ Liberation Front”… one of the the most powerful, time-tested tiny maps I’ve returned to time and again no matter which mission I’ve been on, no matter what I’ve seen and heard during unspeakably horrendous times:
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3 Responses to “Strength For Those on the Front Lines, Australia Fires”
May the Universe empower those on the front lines to do the work before them. And may the love of the Divine sustain them in the face of the tragedy around them.
For the frontline people in Australia: This came from Bruce Moody today. He is the author of, well let me write a short article about it for you today. It's a book about how he stood on the corners of streets for many years as a homeless person, begging for sustenance enough to get through the day. He is in his seventies now, one of the most gracious people I know. He sends this poem today by James Dickey.
Here they are.
The soft eyes open
If they have lived in a wood
It is a wood
If they have lived on plains
It is grass rolling
Under their feet forever.
Having no souls, they have come,
Anyway, beyond their knowing.
Their instincts wholly bloom
And they rise.
The soft eyes open
To match them, the landscape flowers,
Outdoing, desperately
Outdoing what is required:
The richest wood,
The deepest field.
For some of these,
It could not be the place
It is, without blood.
These hunt, as they have done,
But with claws and teeth grown perfect,.
More deadly than they can believe.
They stalk more silently,
And crouch on the limbs of trees,
And their descent
Upon the bright backs of their prey
May take years,
In a sovereign floating of joy.
And those that are hunted
Know this as their life,
Their reward: to walk
Under such trees in full knowledge
Of what is in glory above them,
And to feel no fear,
But acceptance, compliance.
Fulfilling themselves without pain
At the cycle’s center,
They tremble, they walk
Under the tree,
They fall, they are torn,
They rise, they walk again.
James Dickey
What is a firefighter?
He's the guy next door….
He's a guy like you and me with warts and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He's a fireman….
A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.
He's a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.
He's a gentle man because he has seen the awesome power of violence out of control.
He's responsive to a child's laughter because his arms have held too many small bodies that will never laugh again….
He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man.
He lives it.
~Author Unknown
So as you look at the firefighter with his rake, hose or axe,
His beet red face or ice covered mustache,
You should know why he goes through that smoky front door,
I'LL SHOW YOU A VOLUNTEER
Show me a person who spends endless hours in training without pay,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person where a cry for help brings split-second dispatch,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person who is devastated when lives are lost or maimed,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person who is graciously welcomed as a next-door neighbor,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person who takes ridicule more than compliments,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person whose car is garaged with the grille facing out,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person who sacrifices home life, TV… even tender moments,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person visibly moved at the strains of our National Anthem,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person who may be asked to give more than just dedication,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
Show me a person who is asked to give more… and more… and more,
And, I'll show you a volunteer.
May all know protection and relief soon