My Dream for the Harbor

I dream that children will no longer go to bed hungry. I dream that our young men and women will refuse to fight in the wars of empire, that our old men and aging mothers will teach us their wisdom and we will stop to listen.

I dream of emptied jails and prisons, of workers who no longer have to work in the shadows, of communities in solidarity across racial divides. 

I dream that we will learn to live well on the land we love, that we will listen to the whispers of many ancestors, that our forests will grow tall, and our valleys will be fertile, and that we as the people will benefit from the fruit of the land. 

I dream of a people awakened, knowing their value and their worth, refusing to bow to the powerful and the greedy, refusing to live the way they are told to live—a people taking control of their own communities. I dream of neighbor helping neighbor, of autonomous communities, of communities who take control of their own land and their own resources, of a people who say enough to those in power. 

I dream of the time when we will break the pattern of our history—the pattern that treats land and people as resources and commodities, the pattern that divides us and keeps us fighting among ourselves, the pattern that says greed is good and bigger is better, the pattern that allows the few to benefit off the labor and misery of the many.

 I dream of a resurrected harbor, a resurrected land, a resurrected people. I dream that spring will follow a long winter, that new life will follow death, and that the sun will again rise on a broken and struggling land. We have seen much sorrow, but we have a holy heritage, a beautiful land, and the hope of community.