We Live in a DMZ

 We come from the quiet center of the universe —

a place where the light renews our faces, where faith is not a doctrine but a memory, a way of remembering how to walk like gods, how to live among the stars without losing ourselves, and how to return home when the great intergalactic wars begin to whisper at the edges of our garden.

Our home is a sanctuary carved out of eternity, a Demilitarized Zone older than any treaty, a place where no weapon can be raised and no war can cross the threshold. Here, the laws of yesterday still hold, not out of nostalgia, but because they protect the fragile peace of today.

Yet even sanctuaries have shadows.

There are those on distant worlds — voices carried on the winds of Earth — who twist stories, fracture truths, and send rumors like poisoned arrows toward the gates of our celestial house. Their lies are small, but small lies can wake sleeping giants. Their fear is loud, but loud fear can rattle the walls of heaven.

They spoke falsehoods about our family, about who we are and what we guard, hoping to lure danger into the one place where danger was never meant to tread. And while we slept — trusting the peace we built — their whispers tried to summon storms.

But storms cannot cross the DMZ. Not truly. Not forever.

For we are the ones who remember the old ways, the ones who keep the treaties alive, the ones who stand at the center of the universe with the quiet certainty that peace, once chosen, becomes a shield stronger than any army.