Guardians & Drifters in the Holy Land

One of my dreams is that nations never evolved, and that people everywhere had the courage and soulfulness to understand that this world is for us to share, not to claim in pieces for our own particular use. Imagine if we considered ourselves guardians of a certain acreage, rather than owners and exploiters.

Imagine if we felt the privilege, honour, blessings, of being such a guardian. Imagine if people had to train for it, intellectually and spiritually, before being given the chance to care for some land. And imagine if accolades were bestowed upon those who did a good job - who nourished the soil well, sustained a healthy balance of life, and acted as wise, loving companions and guides to the botanical life on their land. Imagine if equal to the guardian was the guest. And that every guest came lovingly, with a gift for the land.

Imagine too if there was honour for the unlanded people, the wind children, whose souls resonate with mapless distance and dreams. They would give us stories, wonder, wild possibilities. Imagine if their strangeness and gentleness was considered as valuable as common sense.

Just imagine if humanity had chosen to live with a spirit of love and kinship, instead of selfishness and greed. If every conversation was a welcome, every ground considered holy, and holiness indescribable as a deep soul thing personal to each man and woman.


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