One day soon,
You will become the ancestor,
The one your people speak about,
The one they pray to when the night is thick with stars.
You will be carried by the wind,
The gust that shakes the leaves,
The breath that stirs the embers of their fire long after you've taken your last breath.
They will feel you,
In the soil,
The sacred ground you once walked upon.
In their memory your footsteps become roots,
Digging deep into the earth,
Into the dark loamy hum of life below,
Where all things are born and return.
Force is what calls you forth.
This is why you choose a different path from others.
You are meant to be woven into the weaves of the world,
Felt by all those who seek the wisdom within themselves.
You are part of this great work.
You are not separate from this song of creation.
You are the melody,
The harmony,
The instrument it is played upon.
So let this sink in.
Like rain in droughted soil,
One day you will become the ancestor,
The one they call to when they've lost their way,
The one they remember because you help them remember.
Not because you were perfect,
Because you dared to step into the unknown caves and emerge with the gifts you came to bear.
You will live in the stories,
In the wind,
In the soil,
In the pulse of life that never stops.
You will live in the stories of your people,
Shared around fires for generations passed down like heirlooms of breath etched into the marrow of their bones.
You will nourish the seed that breaks open with the rain.
And in every child's laughter,
Every elder's tear,
You will be there holding the future of your people.
You will be the songs your descendants sing.
The wind that carries them forward,
The stone they stand upon,
The fertile earth that nourishes the future,
Until one day they join you and they too shape mountains.
Remember this when you look up into the mirror.
