I travel in my meditation to other realms and dimensions. Behind a veil, I witness this unfolding before me. It must have been in the 800 AD, a battle had ensued in a village, and all were dead except for the three children.
Death came for them, but instead, they had this interesting conversation with him.
And the children descended upon the riverbank; hand in hand, they gazed at the shore. The boy the oldest of three spoke:
“He who speaks but his words are only heard by those who are deaf to the noise of the world. Hear me on this evening when the moon hides behind the shadow. The air is thick, the sky is red and the sun is unusually bright, I sense a storm approaching.”
“True, that the wind is blowing, but the winds always blow. A thunderstorm is coming, but is the sky to be blamed for thunder and lighting or the moon to be indicted for pulling onto the sea?”
“Neither” screamed a tiny voice.
“For thunder shakes men up from their dreams, and lighting makes them see what is blind to their eyes. How are we to shield from the rain and build a fire to warm our hearts now that we no longer have a dream?”
Sparkling were her eyes.
“A shelter you will always have, and your hearts always burn with love. The wonder lies in you accepting love for what is, has always been, and will always be and not refusing it, for your heart will turn cold and a dream of a bitter and dark world, you will have. And I say unto you, awake from the dream. For men to dream, men must be asleep. Embrace and accept love as you are awake so you heart can be warm and so you can dream of a better world.”
And in a soft voice, the older sister spoke: “sparkling are the stars, distressed I am. Cold is the wind. May the storm not pass, may the sky and the moon stay in harmony so the children can be in their dream, and so we all can keep dreaming so we can dream for a better tomorrow. May men find the truth in the dream of their children.”
Before the children disappear in the meadow as the moon and the sky were behind the shadow. The youngest turned to Death for the last time.
“He who runs but runs nowhere; why is love so warm when the world stands so cold, and hatred and turmoil overcast the spirit of men.”
“Because man looks for something he lacks and because he does not understand what is missing, he looks for reflection in his loneliness and finds love. But only if they would take the time to look at their children playing in the field as the sun sets behind the meadow, true love is there for them to see.”