A Generation is a collection of faces and bodies, intersecting at the crossroads of time and space.
We, the Generation, are standing at the brink of the present, waiting for our fellow travelers to arrive. The world is moving forward, but we are not whole; some have been missing as their steps couldn’t race the sword of time, some we’ve lost in the middle of the road, while others, after their weary journey, have finally arrived.
The bystanders hear the eminent screeching of the wind, joyous in the void. Celebrating the latest victory over the trees, the sand and the faces- over us. While we stand in a painful frailty that befalls the soul.
Frailty of feet that kick the overwhelming waters they drown in; like a recumbent wounded body, facing the ceiling; like a door waiting for the flood to bash its ragged edges.
One of us gives their hand to another, and another one to the next, to chase the cold away. Suddenly everybody starts to sing…
We move forward, carrying memorabilia in our bags; the photos and names of those to whom time did not offer a hand. We adorn the space of their presence/absence with flowers, and to them, we bow our heads.
Having moved forward. A voice chants; whoever you are, known or unknown to us, whether we met or never crossed paths. An ode to you, wherever you stand.
Fellow of this world, present or in absentia. You merit your recognition, having tried to take the journey. You merit your victory, having lived.
Blessed, you are. And Present, your image resounds in the soul. To you, we extend this recognition, and chant to you: