For seven nights and early mornings.

For seven nights and early mornings, I walked along the dangerous central highway of Peru.
Cold from the highlands, extreme hunger, and death always close.

During the day it was less difficult: I could move along the edge.
But at night I didn’t have that option: the center line was the most visible, not the edges…
If I walked along the edge, on one side there was a cliff…
on the other, an icy irrigation ditch… or the dogs from the houses along the route.

It was not a personal challenge to prove vanity.
It was a forced escape.

Among dark mountains and under the rain, I moved along the thin yellow line.
For hours at night, every few seconds or minutes, trucks, buses, and trailers passed in both directions,
brushing past me just centimeters away.
I was in the middle, between two flows of vehicles.
Those coming toward me I could see…
but those coming from behind I could not.
I could not turn around: I had to keep looking forward.

On curves it was worse:
at night I could only see the lights illuminating the mountain ahead of me,
while from behind and from the front vehicles crossed paths.

One slip could take me off the line.
One mistake… and death would reach me.

Without food, without waterproof clothing, without help…
Indifference came from many. Solidarity, from few.

But there was something that did not give in:
not surrendering, not submitting to injustice, not accepting what I knew was false.

This was not only about surviving physically.
It was about resisting mentally, spiritually, and morally in the face of adversity and slander.

Because there are paths that try to destroy you…
but there is also a light that, if you know how to interpret it, can save you.

In the midst of everything, I was not seeking anything extraordinary… like finding the ideal woman and leaving with her to another planet.

I was trying to reach a town, work, and live in peace.

And I survived.
I arrived in Pichanaki.

I acknowledge that, during those seven days, part of the journey I traveled in trucks of people who offered to take me; only that way could I cross Ticlio.
But at night I did not have that help: I had to walk or die of hypothermia.

I found a job offer: farm workers were needed.
But I did not have proper boots… nor money.

Then I understood:

If there was no other option, it was because God wanted me to return to Lima,
to build a foundation for a better life, clearing my name from slander.

I begged for alms…
and that is how I managed to pay for the trip in the back of a truck returning to Lima,
to use my clarity
and silence those who slandered me there, saying that I did not have it.

God wanted me to be alive to deliver this message:

No message, no matter how wise and just it may be, pleases everyone; for a reason Rome persecuted one, didn’t it? Yet there are those who believe that same message stopped displeasing it and ended up becoming its official religion, as if Rome had changed… If it did not change, then Rome spread the word of the slanderer, the word of Satan, because the word of God was never pleasing to it.

Remove the wings from the false angel Michael and you will see a Roman legionary, sword in hand, saying: “If you want protection, pray kneeling before my statue. Submit to our authority” (Romans 13:1), “do not resist the evil we do to you” (Matthew 5:39), and “if we take what is yours, do not demand it back” (Luke 6:30). Do you really believe that was said by Jesus, and not by the empire that crucified him and then bore false witness against him?

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