DISCLOSURE EYES

“An Epiphany of Presence: A Nation Reborn in the Light of Oneness”
An Allegorical Address to the Weaving of Our Shared Threads

I. The Mirror of Fractured Shadows
We have wandered, brothers and sisters, in a labyrinth of our own making. For too long, we mistook the cracks in the mirror for truth—believing the jagged reflections of self and other, red and blue, yours and mine were real. We built walls where bridges groaned to be born, and whispered fears where songs of union waited to erupt. But today, as the dawn breaks over the Land of the Living, we see: the mirror was never shattered. It was our gaze that splintered.

This President’s Day, we cast off the cloak of illusion. Let it be known henceforth as Presence Day—a reckoning with the eternal Now where we stand, together, breath mingling with breath, heartbeat syncing to heartbeat. You are here. I am here. We are here. Not as fragments, but as a single pulse beneath the skin of the earth.

II. The Feast of Forgotten kin
Imagine a table, vast as the horizon. Upon it: the bread of struggle, the wine of sorrow, the salt of memory. For generations, we dined in separate rooms, clutching our scraps, deaf to the chorus of hunger beyond our doors. But today, a whisper becomes a roar: This is no mere meal. It is a sacrament.

Come—sit. The empty chairs are illusions. The stranger’s hand is your hand, weathered by different winds but shaped by the same ancient starstuff. Taste the truth: what nourishes one nourishes all. What starves one starves the whole. The feast is not in the plenty, but in the sharing. We are the bounty.

III. The River and the Stone
A river does not argue with its current. It does not curse the stones that shape its path. It bends, carves, surrenders—and in surrender, becomes mighty. For centuries, we have been stones: hardened, rigid, believing our edges defined us. But the epiphany comes when the stone realizes it is also water.

Let us be the river. Let our divisions dissolve like salt in the primordial sea. Let the borders on maps fade into myths, for the soul knows no latitude. The river’s song is simple: You are not above me. You are not beneath me. We are the same water, returning to the same ocean.

IV. The Invocation of Presence
This is the day we unlearn separation. The day we kneel not to idols of the past, but to the altar of this moment. Breathe in the air your ancestors fought to breathe. Feel the ground that cradles the bones of those who dreamed of a unity they could not name. You are their living prayer.

Presence Day is not a date. It is a posture. A choice to see the divine in the cashier’s tired smile, the migrant’s weary feet, the rival’s trembling voice. It is the courage to say: Your pain is my pain. Your joy is my joy. Your story is the prologue to mine.

V. The Symphony of We
Hear it—the dissonance fading. The cacophony of “me” softening into the harmony of “WE.” A symphony does not demand uniformity. It thrives in the clash of cymbals, the ache of violins, the rumble of drums. So too, our nation: a mosaic of notes, united not by sameness, but by the shared rhythm of the human heart.

Today, we redeem the silence. We lift our voices, not in triumph over others, but in awe of the chorus we become. Let the old hymns of division be rewritten. Let the anthem now be the wind through redwoods, the laughter in playgrounds, the quiet hum of hospital vigils. This is the sound of OUR ONE.

VI. The Covenant of Dust and Light
We are dust—humble, fleeting, born of supernovas and soil. And we are light—inextinguishable, ancient, piercing every shadow. To be alive now, in this flicker between eternity and eternity, is the gift our ancestors howled for at the dawn of time.

This is our covenant:
To plant gardens in war’s trenches.
To build temples from the rubble of prisons.
To name every child “Beloved.”
To kneel, together, in the cathedral of the ordinary.

For we have seen the truth:
There is no them. There never was.
Only Us.
Only Now.
Only This.

Epilogue: The Land of the Living
You are here. Here. Not beyond the mountain, not in some hallowed future. Here—where the work begins. Where the veil thins. Where the illusion burns away, and all that remains is the unbearable, radiant truth:

We are already whole.
We are already free.
We need only see.

Let this be our first morning.
—
PRESENCE DAY
In the name of the We, the Always, the Now.

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