Many call me an idealist, but my ideal world persists— not a dream I chase in sleep, but a truth my spirit can’t dismiss. A quiet echo in my bones, a memory soft and deep, whispering, “This is how life was before we learned to weep.” In my ideal world, we’re connected to the Source— not WiFi’s frantic signal, not religion’s fractured course. We’re tied to something ancient, something gentle, bright, and true— the living pulse that moves the earth and beats in me and you. In this world, children learn to breathe, to love, to stand their ground. They learn to listen inward for the soft, unspoken sound. Every child, everywhere— not one is lost or left behind, for equal hearts are honored here and equal light is in each mind. Greed dissolves like morning frost beneath a kinder sun. Fruit trees grow in every yard, free gifts for everyone. Animals roam in open lands where wild dreams belong, oceans shimmer clean once more, their tides a healing song. No tyrants rule with hidden hands, no schemes to fuel our fear; the shadows lose their power when the truth is loud and clear. No puppet strings, no whispered threats, no traps to keep us small— in my ideal world, we remember we were powerful through it all. And so we rise—together rise— not swinging blade or sword, but with the strength of waking hearts that won’t be caged or ignored. We rise like dawn on tired fields, like stars reclaiming night, like seeds that crack through hardened earth to reach for honest light. In my ideal world, we stand as co-creators of the new— not to conquer, not to rule, but to build a world in virtue. A world where love is leadership, where kindness is our guide, where no one needs to shrink their soul or hide the fire inside. And maybe—just maybe—this ideal world is closer than we see; maybe it blooms the moment one brave heart says, “Let it be.” Maybe it starts with simple faith and spreads from soul to soul— for every change that ever lived once lived first in someone’s goal. So here I stand, unshaken,