I’m writing this by twilight, 150kph down the Austrian autobahn.
There isn’t a single highway in Bosnia. They’re working on it, for a few k between Sarajevo and Zenica (we praised God for it on the way back, it is open only for those traveling south atm -ed.). The entire 3.5 hour journey from Sarajevo to the Croatian border was 2 lane road. Miriam drove and had to endure traffic–slow Kamiony (trucks) going slow up curvy up-and-down roads.
But that wasn’t even the craziest part. In the north there are thousands of destroyed, burned-out homes by the road. They appeared sporadically, but once we entered RS (Republika Serbska part of BiH) they became more frequent until we were driving through an entire village that had been destroyed.
The heartbreak of not knowing what happened to the people that used to live in those homes. What were those last moments like, before they were taken or had to flee? Did they watch as their things were taken and home burned? Was there one of mother’s quilts still on the wall as the flame engulfed it? One of son’s paintings?
No, they were probably running, or pleading for their lives. Or maybe already deep into Croatia, Slovenia, or Austria.
Or maybe already dead.
Already floating, connected to the Spirit above, watching the scene unfold with a perfect understanding, a complete connection to the collective conscience, which brought them a sad knowledge of the eternal error of their aggressors’ ways.