Poets & Poems (by D. L. Siluk)) Part XXIII) The Creek of Ranquite (Haiti) [Suspense story] in Spanish & English
Poets & Poems
The Globetrotter Poet
(A Journal by: D.L. Siluk)) Part XXIII))
(Reviews, Commentaries, Short Stories and Poems)
[10-26-2006]
The Creek of Ranquite
(The Acropolis of Haiti)) Where was God?))
This creek is in back, and along side of the village, it goes actually in-between Caphatian and the upper mountainous village, called Ranquite. That is where I stayed, but down the mountain, and some 40-miles thereof, is a citadel that sits on top of a hill, built in the early 18th century (1706), where now visitors to Haiti ride up to its acropolis, some 3000-feet to sit on its many iron cannon balls, that was meant to bombard ships that may come in, especially French ships whom would like to enslave the island.
As I was about to say, it is a three-hour ride up and around the mountain. The road is narrow and rocky, and when your two guides rest, you are subject to feeding them a lunch and water, or at least I was back in 1986, with my comrades, some 18 of them, myself making 19 took a trip up to its top. Descending is not the problem, only insuring the donkey’s and guides don’t get tired, dehydrated from the scratching sun, or at least that is what I thought would be the only problem. I thought wrong.
The citadel seemed to be among the thing that would last forever, with its severl foot thick walls, and towering presence. It took 200,000 men to build it, three years, and 20,000 died in the process (trampled to death, child labor, old men dying of heart attacks, starvation, disease, sunstroke, you name it was present in its construction); they worked seven days a week, twenty four-hours a day (worked in the rain, in the heat and the typical normal disasters for this little island in the Caribbean, also took its share of lives. The Haitian Army was going to be prepared for the French, one way or the other. They had thousands of iron balls ready, stacked severl feet high in the courtyard.
I went from Ranquite to the citadel and I intended to stay there for a few nights, it was the summer of 1986. When I first got a glance of it, the towering citadel, looking down upon me, I went into a trance-like state, muttering something to the effect: how come I’ve only heard of this massive enclosure recently? I was dumbfounded that it was not in all the books that had the wonders of the world in them; this should surely have been included I told myself. I would find out in time, it was in some of those books, but not many; perhaps I overlooked it, because it was in Haiti, the most impoverished country in the Western Hemisphere; a sad reason, but perhaps there is some truth to this.
I couldn’t help but picture those 20,000-bodies, —victims, that had died or been killed on this stone invested road that led to the top, to the citadel.
It was a very hot day, that fatal forenoon, going up that hill, or mound, or mountain, whatever one wishes to call it, I hugged the should, lest I fall tumbling down to my death, with my donkey on top of me. One guide pulled the donkey in from of me, the one in back, not sure what he was doing, but I assume he was insuring the donkey I was riding on would not stop. I raised my eyes to the top of the hill, the citadel was massive, and it seemed to cover the whole top of the hill, like a crown, and that moment, that very moment –-
a crushing sound filled the air, as when someone pounds on the base drums, in a closed in room, and echoes came, and I saw, yes I saw the side of the hill, come tumbling down, the side of the roof flew off the acropolis’ main section, with a good part of the bricks, old stones two hundred years old that seemed it would remain in place another two-hundred, ripped out of its sockets, its section blown out tumbling down the side of the hill. I think I said: “One minute (thinking I had that much time to do what I could do to save myself, but I seemed to be frozen in my spot, I couldn’t move, I was paralyzed with the awe of it all, then I thought, “…it will fall onto the road above me, not one me, it did just that, but it buried half of our crew, nineteen of us came, ten were buried, under smut, in the dark eyed dirt, eyes closed, face and mouth gasping for air, unconscious some, bodies twitching, as they, we, the rest of us dug into the dirt to unbury them, as I did the same; an insane moment, that is what it was. What provoked this, I thought as I dug into the dirt, not that it mattered at this split second: shovel after shovel of dirt, a stream of thoughts went through my mind, it went through my mind like the tumbling debris that came down upon my comrades, what page in what book of God’s had this occurred, and couldn’t it have been wiped out, erased, or torn out?
Science
I had been in war, some years earlier—and this was worse. These folks were all good Christians, church-going folks, servants of God. This collapsing and catastrophe of a world monument in a split-second of our lives stunned me, the monument was equal in the Caribbean to the Tower of Pisa in Europe and here, out of nowhere, came a natural disaster, an act of God some my call it, like a giant wave, or earthquake, or something of that manner, but I got thinking, what chapter in what book of God’s was this in? Is it not all written down before hand and if not, why could it not have been stopped? And if not, why; and if not are we all subject to what is already written down? And if not, did heaven forget to look in this direction this very day; I know God does not need sleep, but many were thinking this day, he was sleeping. It was not the first time something so drastic happened in front of me, to the contrary, it was the third, or forth. Depending on how one measures severity, and perhaps number five for me.
Not sure if this could be weighed on a scientific scale, or mathematically, to the contrary. It was not a one in a million shot; even Los Vegas would not have put odds on something like this happening. But there I was looking at its results.
Ranquite
—I went back to Ranquite after all this was over, and remained there in the small village where I slept on a bamboo rug on the floor of a Baptist church, for a number of months, thinking about this; dreaming about it, trying to just put it away. Sometimes we’re not suppose to know everything we wish to know, I guess I felt this was one of those secrets, one you leave in God’s hands, and try to go on with life as best one can, lest you go buggy trying to figure out God. I didn’t need to establish the fact, God allowed this to happen, He did; I say this of course with all due respect (there is always the questions: when should He get involved and when not; and I suppose often times when he does, people say ((or have said): He should stay out of our business, if he had, we’d not be in this mess, so he gets it going in or coming out), and for myself, I’ve established the fact, there is a God. If not, this would not bother me so much.
This village I was in, soon forgot about this happening, as often they do because they’ve lived through a lot of catastrophes, storms and winds that tare their huts and farms apart; storms that kill their livestock. This was just another happening to them, except of course for me, it was different; I’m sure the lives of their loved ones were as precious to them, as the American lives taken were to their loved ones.
I wish I could look at or into the Book of God, or into the book God has called, “The Journal of Earth,” and see just how it is set up, but that is not possible, at least not now. It would be interesting to find out how he picks and chooses: if indeed he does. It is not in the equation, he can, for he surely can, it is if he wants to, more so.
I once found a book of most highly interest to me, it was written in an old style language, and translated into Ethiopian, and read to me, it dated 200 BC: it said something to this effect: Abram confronted God on this issue, and was taken up to him by some angels, and God showed him around the earth, how it was, it was of course at Abrams’ request, and prior to his death, or departure, a wish before the end. And as Abram saw what he saw, he protested to God, because God was allowing a lot of misdeeds to be done, and the culprits to get say. “Cast judgment on them,” he asked, if not almost demanded form the Lord. “Look at what they are doing, these beast of men…” he went on and on, asking, telling God to kill this bad person, and that one, and so for and on. The God said: “You should be the judge, and what you say, will be ordained the way it is.” And thus, they went around again, and Abram cast this man into hell, and that man in to silence, and many more into where everlasting chains for their raping and killing.
Then God said to Abram something like this: are you aware of how long eternity is? Of what you’ve done to these so called bad humans? Do you know how bad hell is, and perhaps if you saw in advance they would repent, but now they can’t of course. Do you realize you took away their only chance to gain live hereafter Earth, what you can look forward to because they done wrong.
No, Abram did not think about that of course, and he wept to the Lord to give them folks a second chance, but God had said, it is ordained they will not return to earth. So what now? Eternal domination was in their pathway, and Abram was the cause of their perpetual judgment. Abram could not stand his own sight knowing this. And God said: I have placed them elsewhere, knowing you would condemn them as you did.
Conclusion:
The question may come up, it has in the past: do people die before their assigned time? (Perhaps yes, possible no.) Can a person turn the pages of the figure? It is like saying: can God write the Bible for every age: for in every time Period, the people of he world feel the Bible is written for them, thus, does God (unknowing to our minds) modify and pinpoint for us, things in it that spell out our period. Yes indeed, he does, and has, and it has been proven to be so. We think it was written a few thousand years ago, when it was really written a few decades ago: I think he sends his angelic scribes and they do a modification on the scriptures, one that we cannot deny, or pinpoint, because it all looks the same. Likewise, why can he not do the same thing with “The Book of Earth”? He can…period!
Yes, we are all assigned to die, accordingly, but the words “if…and…but and God…” remain part of the equation.
The Globetrotter Poet
(A Journal by: D.L. Siluk)) Part XXIII))
(Reviews, Commentaries, Short Stories and Poems)
[10-26-2006]
The Creek of Ranquite
(The Acropolis of Haiti)) Where was God?))
This creek is in back, and along side of the village, it goes actually in-between Caphatian and the upper mountainous village, called Ranquite. That is where I stayed, but down the mountain, and some 40-miles thereof, is a citadel that sits on top of a hill, built in the early 18th century (1706), where now visitors to Haiti ride up to its acropolis, some 3000-feet to sit on its many iron cannon balls, that was meant to bombard ships that may come in, especially French ships whom would like to enslave the island.
As I was about to say, it is a three-hour ride up and around the mountain. The road is narrow and rocky, and when your two guides rest, you are subject to feeding them a lunch and water, or at least I was back in 1986, with my comrades, some 18 of them, myself making 19 took a trip up to its top. Descending is not the problem, only insuring the donkey’s and guides don’t get tired, dehydrated from the scratching sun, or at least that is what I thought would be the only problem. I thought wrong.
The citadel seemed to be among the thing that would last forever, with its severl foot thick walls, and towering presence. It took 200,000 men to build it, three years, and 20,000 died in the process (trampled to death, child labor, old men dying of heart attacks, starvation, disease, sunstroke, you name it was present in its construction); they worked seven days a week, twenty four-hours a day (worked in the rain, in the heat and the typical normal disasters for this little island in the Caribbean, also took its share of lives. The Haitian Army was going to be prepared for the French, one way or the other. They had thousands of iron balls ready, stacked severl feet high in the courtyard.
I went from Ranquite to the citadel and I intended to stay there for a few nights, it was the summer of 1986. When I first got a glance of it, the towering citadel, looking down upon me, I went into a trance-like state, muttering something to the effect: how come I’ve only heard of this massive enclosure recently? I was dumbfounded that it was not in all the books that had the wonders of the world in them; this should surely have been included I told myself. I would find out in time, it was in some of those books, but not many; perhaps I overlooked it, because it was in Haiti, the most impoverished country in the Western Hemisphere; a sad reason, but perhaps there is some truth to this.
I couldn’t help but picture those 20,000-bodies, —victims, that had died or been killed on this stone invested road that led to the top, to the citadel.
It was a very hot day, that fatal forenoon, going up that hill, or mound, or mountain, whatever one wishes to call it, I hugged the should, lest I fall tumbling down to my death, with my donkey on top of me. One guide pulled the donkey in from of me, the one in back, not sure what he was doing, but I assume he was insuring the donkey I was riding on would not stop. I raised my eyes to the top of the hill, the citadel was massive, and it seemed to cover the whole top of the hill, like a crown, and that moment, that very moment –-
a crushing sound filled the air, as when someone pounds on the base drums, in a closed in room, and echoes came, and I saw, yes I saw the side of the hill, come tumbling down, the side of the roof flew off the acropolis’ main section, with a good part of the bricks, old stones two hundred years old that seemed it would remain in place another two-hundred, ripped out of its sockets, its section blown out tumbling down the side of the hill. I think I said: “One minute (thinking I had that much time to do what I could do to save myself, but I seemed to be frozen in my spot, I couldn’t move, I was paralyzed with the awe of it all, then I thought, “…it will fall onto the road above me, not one me, it did just that, but it buried half of our crew, nineteen of us came, ten were buried, under smut, in the dark eyed dirt, eyes closed, face and mouth gasping for air, unconscious some, bodies twitching, as they, we, the rest of us dug into the dirt to unbury them, as I did the same; an insane moment, that is what it was. What provoked this, I thought as I dug into the dirt, not that it mattered at this split second: shovel after shovel of dirt, a stream of thoughts went through my mind, it went through my mind like the tumbling debris that came down upon my comrades, what page in what book of God’s had this occurred, and couldn’t it have been wiped out, erased, or torn out?
Science
I had been in war, some years earlier—and this was worse. These folks were all good Christians, church-going folks, servants of God. This collapsing and catastrophe of a world monument in a split-second of our lives stunned me, the monument was equal in the Caribbean to the Tower of Pisa in Europe and here, out of nowhere, came a natural disaster, an act of God some my call it, like a giant wave, or earthquake, or something of that manner, but I got thinking, what chapter in what book of God’s was this in? Is it not all written down before hand and if not, why could it not have been stopped? And if not, why; and if not are we all subject to what is already written down? And if not, did heaven forget to look in this direction this very day; I know God does not need sleep, but many were thinking this day, he was sleeping. It was not the first time something so drastic happened in front of me, to the contrary, it was the third, or forth. Depending on how one measures severity, and perhaps number five for me.
Not sure if this could be weighed on a scientific scale, or mathematically, to the contrary. It was not a one in a million shot; even Los Vegas would not have put odds on something like this happening. But there I was looking at its results.
Ranquite
—I went back to Ranquite after all this was over, and remained there in the small village where I slept on a bamboo rug on the floor of a Baptist church, for a number of months, thinking about this; dreaming about it, trying to just put it away. Sometimes we’re not suppose to know everything we wish to know, I guess I felt this was one of those secrets, one you leave in God’s hands, and try to go on with life as best one can, lest you go buggy trying to figure out God. I didn’t need to establish the fact, God allowed this to happen, He did; I say this of course with all due respect (there is always the questions: when should He get involved and when not; and I suppose often times when he does, people say ((or have said): He should stay out of our business, if he had, we’d not be in this mess, so he gets it going in or coming out), and for myself, I’ve established the fact, there is a God. If not, this would not bother me so much.
This village I was in, soon forgot about this happening, as often they do because they’ve lived through a lot of catastrophes, storms and winds that tare their huts and farms apart; storms that kill their livestock. This was just another happening to them, except of course for me, it was different; I’m sure the lives of their loved ones were as precious to them, as the American lives taken were to their loved ones.
I wish I could look at or into the Book of God, or into the book God has called, “The Journal of Earth,” and see just how it is set up, but that is not possible, at least not now. It would be interesting to find out how he picks and chooses: if indeed he does. It is not in the equation, he can, for he surely can, it is if he wants to, more so.
I once found a book of most highly interest to me, it was written in an old style language, and translated into Ethiopian, and read to me, it dated 200 BC: it said something to this effect: Abram confronted God on this issue, and was taken up to him by some angels, and God showed him around the earth, how it was, it was of course at Abrams’ request, and prior to his death, or departure, a wish before the end. And as Abram saw what he saw, he protested to God, because God was allowing a lot of misdeeds to be done, and the culprits to get say. “Cast judgment on them,” he asked, if not almost demanded form the Lord. “Look at what they are doing, these beast of men…” he went on and on, asking, telling God to kill this bad person, and that one, and so for and on. The God said: “You should be the judge, and what you say, will be ordained the way it is.” And thus, they went around again, and Abram cast this man into hell, and that man in to silence, and many more into where everlasting chains for their raping and killing.
Then God said to Abram something like this: are you aware of how long eternity is? Of what you’ve done to these so called bad humans? Do you know how bad hell is, and perhaps if you saw in advance they would repent, but now they can’t of course. Do you realize you took away their only chance to gain live hereafter Earth, what you can look forward to because they done wrong.
No, Abram did not think about that of course, and he wept to the Lord to give them folks a second chance, but God had said, it is ordained they will not return to earth. So what now? Eternal domination was in their pathway, and Abram was the cause of their perpetual judgment. Abram could not stand his own sight knowing this. And God said: I have placed them elsewhere, knowing you would condemn them as you did.
Conclusion:
The question may come up, it has in the past: do people die before their assigned time? (Perhaps yes, possible no.) Can a person turn the pages of the figure? It is like saying: can God write the Bible for every age: for in every time Period, the people of he world feel the Bible is written for them, thus, does God (unknowing to our minds) modify and pinpoint for us, things in it that spell out our period. Yes indeed, he does, and has, and it has been proven to be so. We think it was written a few thousand years ago, when it was really written a few decades ago: I think he sends his angelic scribes and they do a modification on the scriptures, one that we cannot deny, or pinpoint, because it all looks the same. Likewise, why can he not do the same thing with “The Book of Earth”? He can…period!
Yes, we are all assigned to die, accordingly, but the words “if…and…but and God…” remain part of the equation.
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 4:51 PM
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