The dream of every planet is to become a star.

From stars we come, and to stars we shall return.  

Creation is not abstract; it is intimate. You are a fragment of Nature’s urge in the Land you were born to. You reflect the soil, the river, the sky of that place. Fractally flawed, yet perfectly whole, you are a bearer of the same impulse that sculpted mountains and lit the galaxies.  

Long ago, a voice in this land spoke: that new peoples would arrive, and it would take generations before the Land itself shaped them, molded them into caretakers. That time is now. Gathered from all colors of the Medicine Wheel, we are here as hybrid children of convergence, each carrying strands of history, each a bridge between past and future, each a seed of the Land’s dream.  

When I watch with my mind, I see difference — ancestry, story, geography. When I watch with my Heart, I see no division. I see each person fulfilling Nature’s purpose, whether or not aware of it. For Nature does not differentiate. She proliferates. She spins diversity with fierce joy, weaving worlds and forms, birthing blooms and beasts alike. Her garment is a gossamer web of interlaced lights — Love and Joy spiraling endlessly.  

Her primary urge is change. She delights in transformation, roiling with the impulse to sparkle in a new way and, for one moment, marvel at her own beauty, before moving on to make more. She births brief flowerings of beauty; she births monstrous energies to overthrow what is stagnant. She lingers in nothing. She evolves. Always, her compass points toward the star.  

Monoculture is a dead end. Homogeneity cannot endure. The pattern of life is fractal, recursive, infinitely varied. The goal of Nature is part Art, part Science, part Spirit. And we — we humans, thin organic layer on Earth’s skin — are chosen as her agents of transformation. Each of us a synaptic spark, transmuting cosmic fire into forms the Land can shape toward its dream.  

What does not dance with her pulse decays and returns to feed the newborn. But when we dance with her longing, when Heart and Mind converge in creative fire, we become her song, her ecstatic chorus of change.  

We are linked utterly to the Earth’s becoming. Even in death, our offerings are recycled into her womb. When she transcends, we transcend. When she ascends, so do we — dust reborn to light, Earth shining as Star.  

This is her dream — and it is ours. From stars we came, and to stars we shall return.