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My trips to concentration camps at various places throughout Europe and the trip to the town of Oswiecim and its Auschwitz-Birkenau camp have been irreconcilable experiences.
It is extremely difficult to me to accept that, over time, the blackest of humanity's absence can come to be referred to as the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum and that the train journey from Krakow Glowny still runs on the same tracks, four times a day, to Oswiecim could become just that: a train journey from which one could return or travel further.
As my visits to the camps progressed, I could not help but develop a frantic need for light, and I became obsessed with searching out even the smallest evidence of the spirit of light over its absence.
As I walked from one barracks to another, one rail line, one frantically desolate space to another, I caught myself whispering, ‘if light were breath’.
It is extremely difficult to me to accept that, over time, the blackest of humanity's absence can come to be referred to as the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum and that the train journey from Krakow Glowny still runs on the same tracks, four times a day, to Oswiecim could become just that: a train journey from which one could return or travel further.
As my visits to the camps progressed, I could not help but develop a frantic need for light, and I became obsessed with searching out even the smallest evidence of the spirit of light over its absence.
As I walked from one barracks to another, one rail line, one frantically desolate space to another, I caught myself whispering, ‘if light were breath’.