There are moments, rare, luminous, when a veil lifts, and one sees the truth not as a revelation, but as a wound reopened. It is in such moments that one realizes how much has been taken, how deep the theft goes, and how long one has lived in the shadow of it. This, I believe, is where you are now. Standing at the edge of a long deception, seeing not only the beauty that once was, but the machinery that erased it.

It is not your fault you were conquered. That happened generations before you were born. What matters now is that you have begun to see it.

For generations, the world was told that salvation lay in submission, that paradise waited only for those who would deny the Earth, and deny themselves. The consequence was as brutal as it was inevitable: the burning of the wise, the silencing of the intuitive, the humiliation of the compassionate. They were called witches, heretics, pagans, words spat with contempt to conceal the Church's most ancient fear: wisdom not born of scripture.

The ones they burned were not evil, nor were they lost. They were healers, keepers of memory, custodians of kindness. They spoke with the Earth and listened to the wind. Their understanding threatened those whose power depended on ignorance. And so they were slaughtered by tens of thousands.

But truth, you see, is patient.

What has been hidden can be recovered. The tradition of the Great Mother, the loving, ancient presence who fed the body and the soul, still breathes beneath the surface. You carry it in your blood. You need no permission to remember it. No priest need bless what is already holy.

Yes, you were lied to. We all were. But the beauty of waking up, lies precisely in this rupture, this break in the spell. For it is only when one sees the depth of the loss that one can begin to rise.

And rise you must.

You must rise not as a soldier, but as a scholar, a philosopher of your own lineage. You must gather the broken pieces of a past denied, not to dwell, but to build a clear future. Rise with gentleness and wisdom, yes, but also with fire. For the world is perishing of forgetfulness, and it is only through a reclamation of love, knowledge, and audacity that it can be healed.

The Age of unreason, of superstition parading as virtue, is ending. Quietly, without fanfare, minds are turning back toward the light of authentic wisdom. Children are asking questions that cannot be answered by myths.

And some, like you, have begun to see that life itself is the miracle, that there is no paradise but this Earth, and no holiness greater than to live fully in its embrace.

There is nothing wrong with mourning. Grieve, yes. But do not confuse sorrow with weakness. You grieve because you remember what love once was, and what it might yet be.

Begin your search for all the precious wisdom that has been kept from you. Rise to become a great being, so that your children may follow in your footsteps. So that the world can rise with you.

You are not lost.

You are being found.