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I dream of the cave of Lascaux…
Its beautiful paintings of running horses,
born by the flickering light of torches….
Never meant to see the light of day,
yet brought to light in our lifetime.
Survived ten thousand years,
yet nearly destroyed by the breath of ten thousand visitors…
Too delicate to survive our modern world,
The cave was closed and sealed.
And lost again.
The horses now run
in the darkness of their cave
We do not understand the mystery of these paintings.
We do not know what they meant to the people who created them.
Their message was not meant for us.
But their beauty and power create profound echoes
in our modern hearts.
What ancient, yearning dreams of hope and beauty brought forth these haunting images?
Ten thousand years from now,
Who will know the makings of our hands?
And who will know the mysteries of our hearts?