2/9/09 - 4:00pm, Monday

It's only 4pm and I am emotionally drained. Did I really think by learning as much history of Cambodia, watching the Killing Fields and reading First They Killed My Father, I would be prepared for the trip today?

The day began with a yoga practice led be Seane (which is always a treat) who was preparing us for the day ahead. As I began to practice, nausea arose, my sinuses filled with congestion and my head hurt. I felt anxious for a short time and it passed. After the physical practice and the short meditation led by Suzanne, I once again felt prepared for the day ahead of me. Suzanne suggested if at any time we lost our ground, to simply breathe - I thought "I could do that, I'm a yogi".

We pulled up to S21 Museum and split up into 2 groups — Security Office 21, basically a prison. Our tour guide provided us with the history of the Khmer Rouge on the way there, once again preparing me for what lay ahead. S21 Museum was an old school which was used as a prison during the Pol Pot Regime era —1975-1979.

I began following the tour guide — (forgive me, I'm not sure how to spell his name) listening to every word and feeling my heart fill with sadness. As I walked from room to room, seeing a steel frame, leg chains, a small dish, my heart became heavy — I breathed as Suzanne suggested and continued. I saw the picture of a victim on the wall chained, tortured and a pool of blood around him — disbelief filled me. How could one human being do this to another human being? I walked from room to room seeing and "bare" witnessing the same thing over and over again. My soul was hurting as I felt the sadness around me but my breath continued to ground me.

Then, I saw the photos of the victims that were taken just before they were locked into their cells . . . hundred of innocent faces looking at me, and my breath seemed to disappear. It brought me back to 9/11 when all the pictures of the people who were murdered lined the streets throughout NYC — including my partner of 15 years, John. The wound I have worked so hard to continually heal was opened up. I looked into each of these beautiful people's eyes and became full of sadness and tears. Nobody spared — babies, young children, teenagers, the elderly, men and woman. I saw each face with a LIFE behind it — child, maybe a mother, a brother, father, aunt, or uncle.

My breath was nowhere to be found, tears streamed down my face, my heart and soul hurt, my belly felt hollow. I stepped out and searched for my breath . . . it came. I wiped my tears and returned inside to continue looking at each soul. I was thankful for Suzanne who had reminded us to breathe.

Our tour guide pointed at the pictures of the Khmer Rouge soldiers — and I felt anger wash all over my body. Anger I haven't felt towards anyone since 9/11. I looked into the eyes of the soldiers, hoping to see a soul. I could just feel the sadness, the torture, the lives taken all around me.

An older man who is a survivor of S21 shared his story. He pointed out the cell he was in and sat down, showing us how he sat there day after day. I gasped! It was horrible to witness just a demonstration of it. He was one of only seven who survived at S21. The women and children who were kept on the second floor with doors on the cells were kept for only a day or 2 before being brought to the Killing Fields to be executed.

At one point, as I was walking up the stairs, I was forced to a stop as the feeling of torture, pain and the presence of ghosts overwhelmed me. My belly felt sick, my head and heart hurt and it was difficult to continue. Suzanne encouraged me along and in the next room there were even more pictures surrounding me. As we headed back down, a few of us paused (Suzanne, Brittany, Angela and myself) — we held hands and Suzanne shared a beautiful prayer for these lives.

I was exhausted, emotionally drained with a headache and an upset stomach as I got back on the bus, wishing we were going back to the hotel instead of to the Killing Fields.

At the Killing Fields, the first building we saw and entered was a huge building filled with the skulls of the victims who were executed. Before entering, I knelt down and prayed for all these lost souls. I walked around the Killing Fields listening to the tour guide, again questioning how this could have happened. As I walked in this open field reading stories of the women and children murdered here, I went numb.

The numbness continued as I returned to the hotel. I know that soon I will be playing with the children and grandchildren of these victims of genocide — and I pray for the hope that I might find in those innocent faces.