In my dreams, I see a procession
making its way across a wasteland
under the long cold light of the Solstice stars.
It is not an invading army--
they carry no weapons, their hearts are unguarded.
It is not a party of refugees--
they are neither desperate, nor disposessed.
They are neither traders, nor travelers for pleasure,
nor any other type of wayfarers
the world has ever known before.
They are emissaries of peace.
Among their number are people of every color, faith and nation
All ages, all genders, all identities
Both rich and poor, both exalted and humble of station
All bound together and made equals
By love, and by the gravity of their mission.
Their eyes are patient. Their hearts are composed.
Their pace is steady, geared for endurance.
They know their travels will be long and hard.
They are a new Posada, a new journey of the Magi
A new Exodus desert sojourn
Seeking a home for their precious cargo
Seeking receptive minds for their message
A message that transcends all boundaries
That dissolves all ancient enmities
And as they walk together, they sing
The most beautiful song the world has ever known.
And though I have never heard it before,
I find I know every word.
Will this procession, this tribe of peacemakers,
Find the home they seek?
Will they find a community that will open its ears?
Open its hearts and minds?
Take them all in, in all their shapes and colors?
Listen to and learn from their song?
In my dreams, I never receive an answer to those questions.
In my dreams, the tribe of peacemakers is still wandering
Questing across the desert for their Universal promised land
A land without boundaries of Us vs. Them
Where people remember they are all children of the same Mother
And no longer raise up arms against each other
But when I awake, I know the tribe of peacemakes
has found shelter for their journey in my heart
Oh may it be, as our troubled world wheels its way through another Soltice,
That you too receive this Posada of Peacemakers
And give them lodging also,
Till every heart is home to their message
Every voice is raised in their song
Every person become member of their tribe
And the whole world become the Promised Land for All.
Listen. They are on the move now.
You will know them by their song.
The words will come to you if you let them.
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