09/17/2025
Sharing this…. ❤️
One day, in some far-off future, children will gather around fires and ask their elders, “Tell us what it was like back then—when the world was unraveling, when the waters rose, when the forests burned, when people forgot the old ways.”
And the stories will not be about kings, billionaires, or presidents.
They will not be about who had the biggest stage, the loudest voice, or the largest army.
The stories will be about you.
About us.
Ordinary women and men who prayed when it was unfashionable. Who meditated not for performance but for survival of the soul. Who researched at night while the world slept. Who carried grief and hope in equal measure. Who kept searching for truth even when every system told them to stop asking questions.
Yes, we were mocked.
Yes, we were rejected.
Yes, sometimes even our own families turned their backs.
But deep down we knew—what called us was older than empire, older than nation, older even than fear. It was the echo of a vow whispered long ago, a promise etched into our bones, a memory of the soul that could not be erased.
One day, they will say we were the ones who remembered how to walk again with the Earth.
That we put our hands in the soil and planted forests.
That we rewilded landscapes long stripped of their magic.
That we listened to rivers, spoke with stones, and honored the wild ones who had no voice in human courts.
That we learned again the medicine of plants, the songs of the herbs, the way prayers taste when steeped in roots and leaves.
One day, they will call us warriors.
Not because we fought with weapons,
but because we refused to forget.
Because we remembered that prayer is rebellion.
That planting a tree is resistance.
That to live with integrity when everything around you is built on lies
is the fiercest form of courage.
And when those stories are told,
our children’s children will look up at the night sky and feel less alone.
They will know the thread was never broken.
Angell 🦌
