Waking Dream: Children in white, vulnerable and innocent, walk and ride bicycles to the borders guarded by armed thugs. One by one they go, one behind the other, sent with the blessings of the adults, a long forever line, each one different, each one moving in pure innocence. The thug is the walking wounded full of fear and anger, scabbed over, crusty. We are the child, the adult, the thug. Our salvation is the eternal birthing of the innocent. In this now. This forever now.
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