Xela, 4/11/11, The Cemetary

I stumbled upon a strange place on my walk this afternoon. I walked through the doors of a majestic church into one of the largest cemeteries I have ever seen - like walking through a wardrobe into another land.

Some people were jogging through the graveyard as if the place were a track or park, others were ambling along talking on cell phones, others walking briskly using the cemetery path as a shortcut to somewhere else, others in black were proceeding a casket, and yet others were praying or laying flowers down as you would expect. And here I was with a strange urge to take pictures and sit down and write in my journal. Take pictures I did, but something told me it just might not be the wisest decision to sit down and write here. Risk mixed with curiosity and acute presence.

Being in a graveyard reminds me that there are always graves under my feet not only when I am in a place designated as such. Pain, suffering, violence on the surface of the mind.

Darkness was creeping in, making silhouettes of angels and demons. I stayed away from strange shadows on the paths ahead. Rows and rows of tombs stretched in every direction, bright colors, flowers, engraved scriptures, barred gates, locked doors.

I kept gazing in awe at it all. Dios mio.