If we could see Japan from outer space right now, with eyes we've never known, we would see a brilliant burst of lotus flowers hovering over the devastation, each one opening and giving birth to another. We would see this because the creative power that Dylan Thomas called, "the force that through the green fuse drives the flower" is violent and holy and terrifying and the fractals of beauty that arise when life is torn open by Life is likened unto a woman going into labor when she doesn't know she is pregnant, doesn't know what labor is, the concept of birth utterly foreign to her. Her body seemingly betraying her, her agony unbearable, her suffering seemingly meaningless. She despairs of God, despairs of Love, despairs of Light, until the giraffe of new life stumbles in the room, blinking on wobbly new legs and the continent grows hushed. Everything pulses with a soft pink light and her sorrow is transformed into inconceivable joy, rippling out into eternity.
Eons later she whispers to her ancestor-sisters on the earth, "Don't despair of the labor. Wait for what is to come."