Clelia O. Rodriguez – författare

This is not a conventional book because the seed comes from the depth of the volcanic cauldron that awaits silently underneath the Lake Ilopango, the umbilical cord of our Humanity and yours. It is a scream, it is an offering, it is pain and it is love. It is a collective offering to those who are responding to a call of Liberation based on Indigenous Principles to protect and defend the land beyond theories, beyond rhetorical and metaphorical questions. This is a tiny-tiny glimpse into Lak'ech.A living testament that today, there are people buried on sand, on water, on air, on blood, among carcasses of bodies eaten by vultures-literally and metaphorically-a living testament of open wounds that heal and are traumatized again and again because you, the reader, the listener, the writer, the transcriber, the colonizer, the upholder of patriarchy and caste and class, the translator and the guardian of the door of the Master's House refuse to listen politically.

This is not a conventional book because the seed comes from the depth of the volcanic cauldron that awaits silently underneath the Lake Ilopango, the umbilical cord of our Humanity and yours. It is a scream, it is an offering, it is pain and it is love. It is a collective offering to those who are responding to a call of Liberation based on Indigenous Principles to protect and defend the land beyond theories, beyond rhetorical and metaphorical questions. This is a tiny-tiny glimpse into Lak'ech.A living testament that today, there are people buried on sand, on water, on air, on blood, among carcasses of bodies eaten by vultures—literally and metaphorically—a living testament of open wounds that heal and are traumatized again and again because you, the reader, the listener, the writer, the transcriber, the colonizer, the upholder of patriarchy and caste and class, the translator and the guardian of the door of the Master's House refuse to listen politically.

This is not a conventional book because the seed comes from the depth of the volcanic cauldron that awaits silently underneath the Lake Ilopango, the umbilical cord of our Humanity and yours. It is a scream, it is an offering, it is pain and it is love. It is a collective offering to those who are responding to a call of Liberation based on Indigenous Principles to protect and defend the land beyond theories, beyond rhetorical and metaphorical questions. This is a tiny-tiny glimpse into Lak'ech.A living testament that today, there are people buried on sand, on water, on air, on blood, among carcasses of bodies eaten by vultures—literally and metaphorically—a living testament of open wounds that heal and are traumatized again and again because you, the reader, the listener, the writer, the transcriber, the colonizer, the upholder of patriarchy and caste and class, the translator and the guardian of the door of the Master's House refuse to listen politically.