In Old San Juan we stood on sacred ground.
Most were focused on the history of Casa Blanca as the home of Ponce de Leon.
I was transfixed by this hole in the floor. Note it. Feel it. This is where enslaved Africans were chained so that they couldn’t escape.
This is sacred ground. My ancestors lived. Endured. Suffered. Breathed. Suffocated. Cried. Wept. Loved. Lost. In this hole.
While wealthy European colonizers lived, laughed, slept, ate….right above them.
Feel this. Don’t look away.
This is sacred ground. And it has nothing to do with Ponce de Leon.
drduboiswalton 