zen-like assertion

The moans have lessened over the past few hours.  I have no idea how long I've been here, or how badly I'm buried.  There is a small crack to the left of me that offers some light, and for the time being it is providing much needed oxygen.

Despite my overwhelming thirst, I try to salvage all my energy to assess the situation.  I know the building has collapsed.  I know there was some sort of firestorm.  The rest I'm uncertain of.

Aliens?

Meteor Shower?

What does this all mean?

I try again to use the weight of my good shoulder to move the slab of cement on top of me, but it doesn't budge.  The back of my head hurts from being rammed into an unwelcoming jagged edge -- but that, for now, is the least of my problems.

I try not to obsess with worst-case-scenario thoughts...for the time being I practise zen-like assertion:

I am alive.

I can breathe.

Everything will be fine.

The silence is engulfing.  Silence means death.  For the first time I have a grave perspective on what life without others would be like...

How we need each other.

How I would give anything to see my worst enemy right about now....

I try to conserve my energy by not crying.  I am not going to feel sorry for myself.  I can't.  I need me in every capacity to survive this.

Everything is going to be fine.

Do NOT fall asleep.

Everything is fine.

I try to readjust my head -- but I can't.  Part of me worries for a second that I've sustained some sort of paralysis, but a moment later I feel my toes wiggle and realize that I'm ok.

I'm just pinned.

This is salvageable.

Everything is fine.

I wonder if the others around me are doing the same sort of meditation...I hope they are and that they are ok.

My thirst is rampant.  I strain my left hand to feel around for my bag in the dark.  A moment later one of my fingers grazes past the canvas material, and I try to leverage my knee to push it towards me.

It feels like hours before I finally manage to grasp the top of the lid of one of the water bottles in my bag.  I used the base of a cement block below me as support, and maneuvering my forearm ever-so-slightly, I manage to roll the water bottle towards my elbow, where I hook it. 

I ignore the rampant pain from my right shoulder as I use my right hand to twist open the cap.  A moment later I take a precious sip -- then place the bottle beside me.

I don't know how long I will have to wait here -- but I know that this is just temporary.

I can breathe.

I have water.

I am fine.