On the hunt to find out the source of the sadness and pain which has ruined my life, I found it in a poem. The poem is by Alden Solovy which became the chant of the last part of a healing circle I joined this past week. The rest of the poem goes like this:
After the Horror
Hold fast to the breath of life,
Hold fast to the song of life.
Hold fast to the soul of life.
This is my sacred duty, God of old,
As survivor, as witness, as a voice of history and truth.
Why else did I live when so many died?
Why else do I stand when so many were put to rest?
Why else do I hope and yearn when so many were silenced?
Hold fast to awe and wonder.
Hold fast to radiance and light.
Hold fast to mystery and majesty.
This is my sacred duty, God of old,
As mourner, as testimony to horror and destruction.
What else remains? What else endures?
What more can You ask of me,
But to choose life in the shadow of death?
I am a witness to the horror. I am witness to the horrors of people harvesting humans for products like soap, lampshades and creams. I am witness to the human experiments by mad doctors. My Mother’s slavery entitled her to become a medical experiment.
With this in my bag of childhood experiences, including looking into the eyes of the damned souls who survived the Holocaust, I turned to art. The driven need to hold fast to radiance and light produces color on my papers and canvases. The tenacious hold of song, soul and breath kept me studying yoga, music and christianity from a messianic point of view.
But the worst G-d could ask of me is to choose to live this life that was granted to me. I never could understand the purpose of having a life. I couldn’t understand how to live this life. It wasn’t suicidal nor was it typical depression. It was more of the weight of being haunted by those who cannot witness anymore.
So I become a pastelist. I enter this new stage of life understanding where the source of my pain and sorrows came from. And because my art is my sacrifice to G-d as proof of obedience, I find solace in finding my path.