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Second letter by #HambacherForest prisoner Winter

Comment Anarchist Black Cross: the following letter has been written over several days, directly after the first letter/statement. Sadly we can‘t give a date.

Originally published by ABC Rhineland.

Note: Enough is Enough is not organizing any of these events, we are publishing this text for people across the US and Europe to be able to see what is going on and for documentation only.

I finally have a pen. Yesterday it irritated me so much, that I hadn‘t smuggled in a pen. There were so many thoughts and impressions.

It is not so bad. I thought that coming here from freedom, would completely exhaust me, and I‘m wondering if it still to come, but for now it is all right.

I think, that just like we had to get used to the freedom to begin with, we could do the same with unfreedom.

Mostly I am scared of forgetting.

In the detention centre I was always dreaming of Kontiki.

Last night I dreamt about my cell. The room between the bars was so big, that I could fit through, but I didn‘t dare.

I want to dream about the forest again, or at least see the people from there in my dreams.

I am almost most scared of the pain hitting again, the despair.

I mean, there was my life, now what is still there? The machines didn‘t just cut through our houses, but also our lives, our relations, everything.

In an occupation people are living, otherwise it doesn‘t work.

I think, that I still have hope, that we won‘t stay here for so long, therefore it is also fine, and I can see it as a forced but interesting experience.

I still haven‘t spoken with the lawyer. I would really like to hear news from back home. This occupies me and the other people a lot.

We need to take care, not to become apathetic. For two days now, I have almost only been lying around without energy. My body had no power, and there was only bread and water. Cliché.

The morning-tea today was a highlight. I am beginning to really appreciate the small things like never before. I mean, now we don‘t have to ask, if we want to go to the toilet. I have a room, with a toilet and a faucet.

I miss climbing, moving, running, barefoot.

In the forest we often had the feeling that we didn‘t have the time. The time just kept running. „The days became birds, gathered and flew away.“

So quickly. Never enough time for all our projects, never enough time for all the people, that one wanted to see. Here there is too much time.

When time is your punishment, all you want, is for the time to run out. The absurd thing is, it is your life that is running out.

I am afraid, not to see some people again, or that too much time passes until I do.

Under my pillow is an old, dirty „forest-shirt“, so I can keep the smell through the night, into my dreams.

I miss making a bonfire, and smelling of fire afterwards. That we all smelled like this. A family.

I am telling myself, others have gotten through it, so I can do the same. And the other person is also still here, I am not alone.

How can a day have so many hours? What should I do with all this time? How terrible, terrible, must caged animals feel, not able to occupy themselves, not able to read, to write, to reflect. Only to wait and to exist. Occasionally getting food, so that they can‘t even die.

I have kept my stuff, and I stay myself. I have much more clothes than I can wear, but other things I wasn‘t allowed to get.

Almost every piece of clothing reminds me of a person, who gave it to me or who was there as I found it in some free-shop somewhere. Or on all the occasions with people, where I was wearing it.

I am imagining having had an accident or gotten a tough disease, and having to go through a tough and boring time of rehabilitation, having to stay in bed. Having nothing else to do, besides reading and listening to the radio. Forced vacation. Another privilege I have, being healthy and not having to go through something like this.

I try to do yoga, and in my „free-hour“ I am running bare-footed through the yard. Well, in your world you wouldn‘t call it running, but here in this mass of time it is pretty dashing.

Here I can take as much time as I will. I am afraid that even this slow patience will go away, when I am back out again. This I sadly already had before.

The other person has been moved, we are imprisoned and divided. Shit.

Last Saturday in the detention centre, I could still grab into my innermost memories, like in a huge library. I could pull out individual memories from the shelves, and examine it. Looking at it I would fall into the memory and could feel how I felt as I experienced it or was given it. My self darted through this library, as soon as my eyelids dropped, or I slipped into my thoughts. It couldn‘t stop, it couldn‘t stay.

Some memories I examined several times, again and again, and with others the pain of desire was to strong, and I had to pack it away.

All of these memories were from the forest. My soul still hasn‘t understood, that I am not there anymore, my subconsciousness always slipping back to there.

It is no longer like this, and now I have to strain myself to get back there, but that is all right.

I must stay in the „here“ and in the „now“ to adapt, to process where I am now. But all the treasures stay within me, and I can never lose them again.

The lawyer was here, you are still struggling, and I wish I was with you. But my struggle is here. Being separated from you and the forest is like a huge wound. And at the same time, you and the forest are my medicine.

Winter


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