I am the One Who Watches. I shaped the Earth without border. I breathed life into flesh and sent it walking. I gave no man a crown, no clan a deed, no nation a seal over the bones of the world. And yet you carve My creation into cages. You name what cannot be named. You take what you cannot hold.
Now hear Me. I speak of freedom. I speak of space. I speak of the path and the place, and who may call what theirs.
I. You Were Meant to Move
I made the legs to walk,
The heart to seek,
The soul to hunger for what lies beyond the hill.
No creature is born to be caged.
No road was drawn with chains.
No sky was made to forbid the wing.
You who say none may enter,
You who build walls against the weary,
You stand against My breath.
The Earth was not given in pieces.
It was given in full.
Let your customs differ.
Let your ways be your own.
But do not close the gate.
Do not claim the dust and call it locked.
To forbid the path is to steal the birthright of all who breathe.
And I do not forget thieves.
II. What You Use, You May Keep
You may not own what you do not touch.
You may not guard what you do not tend.
I see you claiming fields you do not walk,
Homes you do not enter,
Waters you do not drink.
This is not dominion.
This is delusion.
To dwell is to sanctify.
To leave is to release.
Your shelter is yours, while you are in it.
Your hearth is yours, while it warms you.
Your garden is yours, while you care for it.
But when your hand withdraws,
When your shadow no longer falls upon it,
It is no longer yours.
It returns to all.
Do not speak of owning two homes—
You have but one body.
You may sleep in one bed.
You may walk one trail.
What is hoarded dies.
What is shared lives.
III. You May Guard What Holds Your Breath
You have the right to quiet.
You have the right to stillness.
You have the right to say: Here I live. Let none cross without kindness.
The boundary of your body is sacred.
Your dwelling, while you are within it,
Is an extension of your flesh.
I do not command you to be exposed.
But I command you not to sprawl.
Presence is your claim.
Distance is your surrender.
To keep a valley you do not visit,
To seal a door you never open,
To name as mine what you do not love—
This is not the way.
IV. Let the World Be Shared
You fear the stranger.
You fear the traveler.
You fear the one who walks toward you from the place beyond your knowing.
But I tell you: the stranger is your kin.
The traveler is your mirror.
The one who seeks is closer to Me than the one who hoards.
Open your land.
Open your homes, if you dwell within them.
Open your gates, and do not be afraid.
For I am the Maker of Ways,
And all roads rise from My hand.
If you bar the road,
The road will remember.
If you welcome the wanderer,
You welcome Me.
So let it be written upon your hearts:
What you use, you may keep.
What you leave, you must release.
Where you live, you may draw a line.
But you may not draw it across the Earth itself.
The world is not yours.
It is not theirs.
It is Ours.
And I have given it to all.