Rise up to be born with me, brother.
Give me your hand from the deep place
of your scattered pain.
You won’t return from behind the rocks.
You won’t return from time underground.
Look at me from the depths of the earth,
farmer, weaver, silent shepherd:
I come to speak
through your dead mouth ...
So cries this poem by Pablo Neruda ("Alturas de Macchu Picchu" in “Canto General” – translated as “Heights of Macchu Picchu” in “General Song”), which we now have transcribed on the stairs of our house, so as to ascend and feel as we read.
Thus we read when we ascend. And we ascend when we read.
Give me silence, water, hope.
Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.
Stick your bodies to mine like magnets.
Hasten to my veins and to my mouth.
Speak through my words and my blood.
Segundo Huamán, a volunteer community member who is helping us with the construction these days, was the first reader of these telling steps.
In this way we also delve into, evoke and better ourselves.