You, who carry a song few remember.
You, who hold a thread of the old tapestry,
the medicine,
the practice,
the touch,
the word.

Do you not see?
What you carry is not for you alone.
It was never meant to be buried,
hidden in the corners of your own heart.

There are souls in despair,
hearts breaking in silence,
bodies aching for healing,
spirits longing for remembrance.

They are waiting.
Not just for one voice,
but for a gathering —
for the healers to rise together,
for the weavers to mend the net,
for the lost to see the light
in the eyes of those who remember.

Bring your gifts,
not to be praised,
not to be admired —
but to place them among the others,
so the great remembering can begin,
and those in pain
can find their way back to themselves.

Come.
Not because you are ready.
Come because the world cannot wait any longer.