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1/12/10 Empath Haiti Sitting paying bills, fine-point pen in hand, feeling the fatigue of the workday, alone and afraid, I search for answers about making ends meet and increasing money left, mind clouds and eyes blur. Why have You forsaken me? I fade in and out of the moment. Words murmured to myself become increasingly muffled as sounds blend into the cracking walls that surround and a stabbing pain shreds through my right arm, extended groping, pushing against a slab of cement that pins me to the ground... My skin has turned from a pale cream to a coffee bean brown. The words I utter are no longer familiar to me, but they flow like a bastardized staccato French. Ban mwen, souple'...My plump white flesh has withered to bare muscle and bone. My arm's crushed beneath a weight of cement. Nou bezwen....Screams and cries deafen me in this language. Kisa pi nou fe? Names are whispered somewhere in my mind, evaporating ami d the wails - Ketty, Brunel, Genevieve, Emmanuel, Mireille - their souls finespun, rising into the heavens. Sickness, despair, pain and pressure close me into shadows. Years of political usury cripple my strength. I breath in dust, cement and dirt. Toupatou... Heavy hands of dictatorial oppression squeeze my narrowing throat. My mouth will not open, the words fade into soft moans. I don't feel my body complete - it is in pieces, scattered, surging pain then numb, as if hacked by machetes. Kote nou ye? But my mind is racing, sifting in and out, several dimensions, all feel strange, but all familiar, as if I have dreamt these passages all before. Dust scrapes the inside of my nose. The gritty taste of mudcakes scratches the corners of my mouth. My lips swell parched, cracked and cut. My bones protrude like spikes from the depth of my soul. I smell hardened blood and death on me, around me. Only the Lord can reach me where I am. Only He knows where to find me. My mind darkens. I try to take a breath, inhale, rattling my throat, weak, fading.....then.. A burst of strength from who knows where forces me from the padded armchair in front of the computer and I drop the pen. I rise and walk around, shaking off this inexplicable moment of transfiguration, unsure of who I am, where I was, when and how it will again envelope me. by jjill ©28 janvier 2010