Forgotten memory

 FORGOTTEN MEMORY

18-03-2021

"I am entitled to miracles" the lesson says today and I got the courage to look inside of me. This week a book came into my hands with the secret intention to open doors which allowed me to see a very old wound which I abandoned in the deepest most part of myself maybe 30 years ago.

Today I saw the teenager and the young woman I was. I lived in Medellin, Colombia. At that time the most dangerous city in the world (I remember my wrath when someone dared to affirm that true). It was a time to not forget. I was a witness to terrible kidnappings in the name of the poor, executed by criminals calling themselves guerrillas. I was a witness of torture and murders committed  by criminals named the army and the police. I was a witness of abuses, murders, and tortures carry out for the leaders and employees of the drug cartels. I lived in a city where car bombs exploited frequently.

"I am entitled to miracles" and yes, I went into the darkness part of my being, that part where all the fears and the guilt are together, intertwined one with an other like the roots of an old tree. That place where all the tears which we never dare to cry, created a big ocean. That part of me where there was no space for hope, that part which  needed to be forgotten if I wanted to be able to survive.

We were so innocent, we had ideals. We were working for the community, we were helping to build new houses after the river destroyed the slums, we were teaching the love of God, we were playing with children on the streets and visiting hospitals and nursing homes, taking with us some sweets and singing to entertain. Then, we started to do more, some got involved in politics, some wrote in news papers and magazines, some got an option for communication for development, some closed their eyes and ignored the tragedy, everyone did their best. What else can we ask for?

"I am entitled to miracles" and the time passed and a new era started (we thought, we dreamed, we hoped) and yes I left the country searching for something better, dreaming to fly. I left and packing my baggage I hid (I thought for ever) the pain, the fear, the anger and the guilt to be one of the survivors.

"I am entitled to miracles". This week I allowed the ocean of tears overflow through my eyes in an unstoppable river running on my cheeks and my neck. I allowed the fear and the guilt came to the surface and I SAW THE MIRACLE. It was not hate or anger anymore because I saw. We all were victims, the tortured and the torturer, the exploiter and the exploited, the kidnaped and the kidnapper. We were all victims of our own insanity to believe we were separate and different.

Today "I am entitled to miracles" and when I claim my right I am claiming the right of every one. The pain I carry is not my individual pain, it is not only the pain of the Colombian's in the 80's it is the pain of every parent who has lost their child, the pain of every child who has lost their parents, the pain of every woman who has lost their husband and the pain of every husband who has lost their wife. It is the pain of every brother and sister, of every friend, of every one. It's the pain not only of the Colombians or the 80's, it's the pain of the humanity in every country, at every time.

Today "I am entitled to miracles" and the miracle is done. In order to survive I can bury my fears, my pain, my anger. In order to LIVE  I have to bring every thing to the surface, I can not allow to forget, because the oblivion is the door to do it again. Today THE MIRACLE has done. I am healing my wounds and in my healing I am healing the wounds of every parent, of every child, of every sibling , of every friend.

Today I pray for peace, knowing I can not contribute to peace if in my heart is war. Today "I am entitled to miracles"