Paul Dunion, EdD

There are many life questions.

Some will lead you to find sustenance;

some, where to work, where to live,

and some where to grow old.

Your soul continues to live one

question, even when there’s no

apparent way to get your attention:

Where are my People?

For millennia upon millennia,

a sensibility to your survival kept

you close to this soulful question.

Living the question: Where are my

People? helped you to hold the faith

that your tomorrow was more likely

to greet you, when accompanied

by your People.

Those ancient times saw you pretend

less about dangers lurking close by.

Your aloneness knew an impending

peril. A solitary path meant you were

more susceptible to be overcome by

forces larger than you. You carried

your vulnerability and fragility closer

to your chest.

Gradually, you no longer needed to

grow your own food, creating shelters

to protect you from the elements or

some menacing adversary. As your

bodily needs were meant, a veneration

of your self-reliance had you forgetting

to ask: Where are my People?

There is still time. You may be moved

and touched now by this soul question.

It can still make its way to the surface like

the crocus knowing its destination for a

rendezvous with the light. It pushes its

way through hardened soil, sticks

and stones. You may ask, why now?

Why not continue to believe in

the alleged sovereignty of the ego?

Ask now because your life depends

upon it. The soul longs for connection

to your People, where you belong. 

Where are my People? invites you

to step into the mysteries of yourself

others, Nature and your God.

The question: Where are my People?

is relational compost. It yields a new

growing season. Your apprenticeship

to loving broadens and deepens.

There are perennial buds of giving

and receiving, the thorns of conflict

are less pronounced as the sweetness

of resolution permeates the air.

Where are my People? This question

guides your aging. You come to know

whom you are meant to serve. Your

gifts find hearts hungry for your offering.

Your purpose loses its opaqueness,

becoming ever so clear with the pulse

of your offering. Your task is to hold

the faith that your People are waiting

for you.