finding beauty anyway

Though I never created any kind of itinerary for this trip prior to jumping on a plane last August, there were of course certain things I knew I wanted to see/do while I was in Europe. Hike in the Swiss Alps and along the coast of Italy. Swim in the Mediterranean. See an opera.  Eat pizza in Naples. Visit as many art galleries as possible. The list goes on. One of the items on one of these lists was to visit a concentration camp in Germany. This felt necessary for me, that, alongside all of this beauty, pleasure, joie de vivre that I was to experience, that I also deliberately carve out time to learn, absorb, grapple with the atrocities human beings are capable of, and very intentionally pay respect and honour these lives lost not many years ago.  So.  Today, I headed to Buchenwald, a concentration camp located just 10km north of the city of Weimar (http://www.buchenwald.de/index_en.html).


I don't have my head wrapped around the things that I saw and read today, and I hope I never do, for to wrap my mind around such horror would be to roam the world without a heart, with walls standing between myself and my fellow human beings.  Though I suppose I learned many new "facts" today, it was not as though anything I saw surprised me. I knew what I was in for, I've heard stories, I've seen pictures, I've studied these events.  I guess nothing prepares you to actually stand in a place like this though. To walk the now overgrown railway line where hundreds of thousands were brought here. To see the watchtowers and barbed wire, imaging the stories behind the many individuals who tried to escape (no one ever survived an escape attempt). To enter execution facilities (no gas chambers existed at Buchenwald; here, prisoners sentenced to die were shot in a building made to look like a medical examination room, or were suffocated through being hung on hooks on the wall). To gaze upon prisoners' artwork, and photographs of starved inmates and corpses piled high. To read about living quarters, stables intended for 50 horses that housed up to 2000 humans in each. To walk along the rows of crematorium ovens.

No, there is no preparation possible for this. To see this, and also to sit with the feelings it brings up.  Horror.  Fear.  Disgust.  Nausea.  Guilt.  Confusion.  Deep sadness.  Questions about how it could possibly be that only 65 years ago this camp was in full working order. About how the world "let" this happen. And what about the warcrimes that happen in places where the Western world is less likely to pay attention? And what is my place in all of this - how did I get the sweet deal of being born in Canada, white, with well educated and loving parents, and so on? Is the little bit that I do in the world, as I strive to be a self-aware and contributing, and endeavour to walk alongside others in their journey to do the same...is this enough?  With all that I've been given, what could possibly be enough?

And, in terms of my newfound journey of seeking presence in each moment, what about right now?

When I was in Budapest back in August, exploring a city by myself for the first time of the trip (while Sarah nursed her ungodly hayfever), I remember reflecting and journalling about the fact that if I wanted to see danger and reason to fear, evidence of suffering and cause for despair, I would be able to find this.  Even in the streets I walked alone that day - I could have felt alone, scared, and vulnerable. And of course, at times, it is absolutely essential to very deliberately look at human suffering and allow oneself to be affected by this. I read the news, I do volunteer work, and yes, when in Germany, I visit a concentration camp, for I refuse to live in a bubble of safety and comfort and privilege. At the same time, it's vital for all of us to also deliberately look upon the beauty that still exists in the world, to believe that capacity for tremendous good lies within all of us, to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight, as the song goes.  Finding beauty anyway.  Tonight, I will find beauty in my mug of peppermint tea, the chill of the autumn air, the adventure and bravery in the travellers that surround me, the thriving artistic community in Weimar, and will express gratitude for the gift of being right here amidst it all.