What the Vision Asked of Me

 (Moon Ink Chronicles — Entry VII)

After the vision returned, it didn’t leave me afraid.

It left me saddened.

Not because of what I saw, but because of what it reminded me of — how easily the world forgets the simplest truth: that no belief, no banner, no uniform, no cause is worth the breaking of human life.

Violence doesn’t resolve anything.

It doesn’t heal history.

It doesn’t correct injustice.

It multiplies harm and teaches grief how to echo.

What struck me most wasn’t the image of danger — it was the sameness of it. The way fear looks identical no matter who carries it. The way loss doesn’t ask for faith, skin, language, or nation before it settles into a body.

Spirit doesn’t belong to one people.

Compassion doesn’t have a border.

Grief doesn’t discriminate.

If anything deserves allegiance, it’s the quiet recognition that every life carries a private universe — families, memories, futures — all extinguished the same way when violence is chosen.

I don’t believe visions arrive to glorify chaos.

I believe they arrive to remind us what we’re responsible for protecting.

And what we’re responsible for protecting is each other.

Not through force.

Not through fear.

Not through division.

But through restraint.

Through listening.

Through the courage to refuse hatred even when it is offered loudly and often.

The world doesn’t need more justification for harm.

It needs steadiness.

It needs people willing to pause instead of react.

It needs hearts strong enough to hold difference without turning it into an enemy.

I don’t have answers for how peace is achieved on a global scale.

I only know how it begins.

It begins when we choose not to harden.

When we refuse to let fear decide who deserves safety.

When we remember that no one is born carrying violence — it is taught, learned, and repeated until someone breaks the pattern.

This Chronicle exists to remember what matters.

To hold witness without fueling fire.

To choose love even when the world forgets how.

Nothing good comes from violence.

Only more names to mourn.

More lives interrupted.

More children carried through fear.

And so I choose this instead:

Care.

Presence.

A refusal to forget our shared humanity.

That is the only future worth seeing.

We all rise as one, whether governments follow suit or not.