I found myself inside a gentle morning in November. Dawn and the cloudless sky above stood witness. My thoughts were tied to the tranquility of the surroundings. The trees wore twenty-seven shades of green. I heard nothing but silence and silence whispered back to me, quietly. My eyes found invisible doorways to ancient times, as I walked and walked, and the sunlight cast deep shadows on to the mountainsides of San Lorenzo, Guatemala.
The journey was a peaceful transition into the lazy afternoon, for even the bird's were slow to stir. So, you might image, when the unfamiliar stare appeared so abruptly in my path my mind was hesitant to digest the interruption.
His darkness frightened me. We stood there connected by the blade of his machete against my neck and the matching color of our eyes.
The quiet air held our breaths as we exchanged sudden movements atop the hillside. I heard distant screams and cries only later to realize they were my own.
It was a violent collision of our birthed realities. His dark skin carrying the burden of hunger and pain; my white skin reflecting all that was opposite his oppression.
Face to face, we stood divided.
Yet, I knew somehow, if either of us were to escape that dark abyss, we would be bound by light eternal.