Journal 9

Service Learning

Anthropologist hard at work at an excumation site in El Pueblo Sacpulup where uncovering bodies of those (and at this site mostly children) that had been killed during the brutal war that took place in indigenous villages all across guatemala is a sight that no words can describe.

The trench in which the bodies were "buried" before they fled their
pueblo.

- poetry by Sara Buller

1.
I slept with bones above my head.
They whispered to me of their pain.
I slept among the mourning Mayans.
They awoke me with their cries.
I looked into their worn faces.
They told me I would never understand.
I buried their dead with a new found dignity.
They buried their dead with a dignity that was always there.
I walked away from their history.
Their history follows all their steps.

2.
I am a citizen of the richest nation in the world.
I pretend not to be.
I am a Christian.
At least I say that I am.
I am comfortable.
I always have been.
I am alive.
I hope your soul is not dead.
I am ignorant.
I try not to be.
I do struggle.
I do not struggle as much as you.
I am what I appear to be.
You can't change that.
I am a sinner.
I always will be.
I am as white as they come.
What color are you?
I am blessed.
Are you my blessing?
I am not an individual.
Do you say you are?
I do love.
Do I love as hard as you?
I love to embellish, feed my desires.
Do you have this luxury?
I put my trust in God.
Where does your trust lie?
I am a pacifist.
What war are you fighting?
I live in this reality.
Would you like to live it with me?