Last year there were many channeled writing days. Days where it was all I could do to not cry buckets of tears with the words that were being sent through me so the dead could tell their stories. Be remembered. Find peace. This was written August 2015 by those who suffered and spoke through me.
There are more sides of this story you have to tell. There is never just one version. You must tell ours and what happened to us.
We too wander this land, these graves, this earth. Bodies burned, shattered, broken. Mutilated beyond repair. Horrors you cannot imagine.
We are supposed to forgive them? Really? Do you fully understand what they did to us?
They took our peace.
They condemned us to a lifetime of hell. A hell we cannot leave.
We walk the camps day and night. You know we are there. We rise from the gas chambers, ovens, execution pits, beds, fields, and woods. Our souls yearn for peace. We did nothing to deserve this, and yet we are stuck here too.
From time to time people will visit to see what it looks like today. They have no concept of our life, our suffering, our stories, our pain and our HOPE.
There is always some hope we will forgive those who hurt us. Those who left before us. Forgive ourselves for ignoring the signs and staying behind before the borders were closed. Forgive ourselves for allowing our children to suffer. Forgive those who stood by as our friends until…… When fear overtook them, they turned on us.
Would I have done the same?
Where is there peace in this camp? Some who survived eventually forgave their captors. Did they forgive themselves for living when others died? Did they make something of their spared lives? Or did they too rot away and turn to dust as we did?
How can we forgive ourselves and go when we still hold so much anger and resentment toward so many others?
Are we destined to roam this land for eternity?
Will we ever have peace?
© 2016 World War II Research and Writing Center