I did not feel the 6.2 earthquake 20 miles north of San Jose last week. I was on the coast, treking the steep road of Manuel Antonio, and looking for a gay nude beach that not longer exists. Now back in San Jose I've felt a tremor or two: a small one woke me up around 2 am night before last, rattling the window and gently shaking my bed. I've been told, unofficially, that Official Volcanists are speculating the terremotos are caused by the aged Volcano Poas settling more than the earth's plates changing position. They've predicted a near perfect circle around the base of the volcano where subsequent tremors are likely. And my friend added, "they said Amy's plane will definitely not be taking off on Saturday."
I always feel especially vulnerable to the elements, the probabilities, the imminence of death when I travel. Maybe it's just being away from home, and my familiar. It's humbling, actually. That I can sit on this beautiful patio in a private, well fortressed home in Escazu, enjoying a gentle 68 degree breeze, with grass that couldn't be greener if I painted it myself, and blue sky of a matching hue, suggests a vacation paradox. The natural movements of a planet I - we - can not control threaten to harm without one ounce of evil or greed or resentment, but simply natural existence.
I'm taking a silent moment for gratitude, and a silent moment for those who have lost, and another for those who have been taken.