We are the sum of countless untold stories, each a note in the vast symphony of human existence. But how much do you truly know about your ancestors? Have you asked your parents about their lives—their friendships, experiences, and stories? Can you pass down tales of your grandparents or great-grandparents to your children?
Consider how many lives have been lived so that you could exist. We are guided by the shadows of memories we barely recall, navigating wisdom not from our ancestors, but from our own mistakes. When we lose our memory, we lose our wisdom. It often feels like we’re wandering through a wilderness, pursued by monsters intent on consuming us.
Yet, in this seemingly harsh reality, there is a profound truth: think again of how many lives were lived for you to be here. This perspective shifts us from focusing on struggle to appreciating gratitude, from feeling isolated to recognizing connection. Whether we seek a Creator, chase horizons, or forge our own paths, the only way forward is through connection. Everything survives through interaction. Connection isn’t just essential for survival—it’s the essence of truly living. Our stories must be told.
As a society, our collective story has taken a troubling turn. Disconnected from the wisdom of past generations, we find ourselves on a path toward division and self-destruction. The concentration of wealth and power in the hands of a few comes at the expense of the many. But we must remember: we create our own reality. There is no preordained destiny, no grand plan beyond what we choose to build. “In the beginning was the word.” We divide time into past, present, and future, and our words shape these distinctions. Our thoughts, words, and actions construct the world we inhabit.
I remember sitting at my grandfather’s feet as a child, listening to his stories of resilience during times of war and hardship. These weren’t just stories—they were lessons in strength, adaptability, and the importance of community. Today, as I watch my own children engrossed in their devices, I wonder: what stories are shaping their reality?
Storytelling is how we shape this reality. Stories are prayers. When I write about history, I’m not altering the past—I cannot change what’s already happened. But my interpretation of it becomes my present reality. This is why remembering is so vital. When we forget our past, we lose our wisdom, allowing fear and darkness to creep in.
Likewise, when I write about the future, I’m shaping tomorrow as an extension of today. The stories we choose to tell, hear, and believe influence the reality we build. Even our concept of God stems from the stories we ask to be told. Sadly, the god that seems to dominate today is the god of war—serving only one ruler, one nation.
But there is hope. Love, unity, and a deeper truth remain, still waiting for us to fully reach them. Countless good people are thinking good, speaking good, and doing good. Though their stories may not echo loudly in our collective consciousness, they persist under both sun and moon. They are the silent, shining majority. Hope, choice, and freedom still exist. We hold the pen to write our story.
I witnessed this silent majority in action during a natural disaster in my community. Neighbors who had never spoken before came together, sharing resources, comfort, and strength. Their small acts of kindness—from offering food to providing shelter—created a collective resilience that no headline could capture.
So, let’s imagine a different story. Picture a garden in the midst of a forest—vibrant colors, clean air, and an abundance of organic food and energy. A world in harmony and health. For once, can we begin with peace? Peace of mind, peace rooted in gratitude. Consider once more the infinite lives that have come before you, so you may live—and pass life forward. A garden needs a gardener, someone attentive and protective of all life. Let us try kindness.
This garden is not just a metaphor for our world; it’s a blueprint for our societies and our lives. Like a garden, democracy requires constant tending. Our relationships need nurturing, and our growth demands attention and care.
We cannot, of course, ignore the realities of our world. It’s no secret that power and money have always shaped history. Today, billionaires wield unimaginable influence. The number of zeros in their fortunes is hard to fathom, and harder still to see as a solution. We must pay attention to what they do, what they buy, and what they seek.
In this complex landscape, I prefer those who search over those who claim to have all the answers. The one who searches is wise; the one who says, “I know everything,” is a fool. I know what I know, and you know what you know. No one can truly know another’s mind unless it’s been fabricated.
This brings us to democracy—the truest form of collective storytelling. I remember when we fought against dictators. History consistently shows that where there is a beginning, there is an end. No dictator ever outlasts their enemies, nor do they carry their kingdom into the afterlife. Only the memories of their deeds remain.
Democracies are not destinations; they are journeys. They are not perfect, nor are they fixed. We strive to improve, to make life simpler, more comfortable, and more sustainable. Our principles are not rigid like mountains, nor do they sway with every gust of wind. They grow as we grow. The larger our perspective, the more aligned our principles become with the reality we live in.
In our personal stories, children offer us a second chance at life—not so they can live out the dreams we didn’t achieve, but so we can help them live the life they choose. Grandchildren offer a third chance. Believe me, the help they need isn’t always your strength or guidance; those qualities are already within them. What they need from you is something deeper—a chance for parallel lines to meet, for age and youth, time and the future, to connect. Life is cooperation, a song, and we are the notes.
As we move forward, we must find solutions that benefit everyone, for we all come from the same source. We cannot live in the past. Populations grow, cities expand, and any nation that isolates itself will face war and collapse. The way forward is not in living life in black and white, but in learning, advancing, and becoming wiser and more loving.
In this interconnected world, technology plays a crucial role in our storytelling and legacy. Our digital footprints, like modern cave paintings, tell the story of our civilization. But we must ask ourselves: are these stories bringing us together, or driving us apart? Are we using technology to cultivate our global garden or to build higher fences?
We must be cautious. If resources and power remain concentrated in the hands of a few, we will self-destruct. In the grand scheme, none of us will be individually remembered. We haven’t built monuments to last forever, nor did we create Atlantis. Even satellites will fall, obeying the universe’s command, before any advanced civilization discovers them—and they will believe it was the gods who were angry.
In the end, we enter our next life, judged and sentenced by no one but ourselves. This sobering thought reminds us of the importance of the stories we choose to tell and live by. As we write our individual and collective narratives, let us strive for wisdom, kindness, and unity. For in these stories lies the power to shape not just our reality, but the legacy we leave for future generations.
Every word we speak, every action we take, is a seed planted in the garden of our collective future. What kind of world do we want to grow? The choice, as always, is ours.
