My Wish for the World

Start with a breath, stay for the belonging. We open a quiet space amid the noise to ask a brave question: what if compassion, presence, and courage became daily habits—not lofty ideals? From a grounding meditation to a raw story of losing a community space, we trace how grief can clarify what we’re here to build: circles of care where people arrive messy and still feel welcomed, seen, and held.

We explore the twin climates shaping our lives—the environmental crisis and the human climate of division—and make a case for a different stance. Reverence becomes a practical ethic: honoring earth, breath, ancestry, and the ordinary moments that keep us human. Instead of abstractions, we offer workable practices: rituals of shared meals, unhurried listening, forgiveness that tells the truth about harm, and policy shaped by care rather than profit. Healing is collective, liberation is relational, and culture changes when small acts become contagious.

Honesty anchors the hope. We name doubt, fatigue, and the temptation to turn away, then return to what we can prove in lived experience: a kind word softens anger, a listening presence eases grief, and a single brave voice can invite many. A closing meditation widens the circle—compassion for someone you love, someone you struggle with, and yourself—followed by grounding wisdom from Martin Luther King Jr and Mother Teresa. The takeaway is simple and radical: peace is a practice you can start now, choice by choice, breath by breath. If this resonates, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a review with one small act of care you’ll try this week.

Chapters

• 0:02 Welcome & Show Vision
• 2:59 Guided Arrival Meditation
• 4:38 The Outer And Inner Climate Crisis
• 6:31 Choosing A Different Way
• 8:36 Personal Story Of Lost Community
• 11:15 Circles Of Belonging
• 14:18 Reverence As A Daily Practice
• 18:03 Wrestling With Doubt And Fatigue
• 21:04 A Courageous Ethical Choice
• 25:40 Closing Meditation On Compassion
• 32:10 Wisdom Quotes And Living Peace
• 35:19 Final Vision And Farewell

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:02

Welcome to Voices Around the World. A soulful space where stories breathe, borders blur, and humanity speaks. This isn't just a podcast, it's a gathering. A circle of voices, intimate, courageous, and deeply personal, echoing from every corner of the globe. Through heartfelt interviews and reflective solo episodes, we explore the lived experiences that shape our shared world. The struggles that stretch us, the triumphs that lift us, and the quiet moments that remind us we belong. Each episode invites you into conversations with artists, healers, activists, educators, and everyday visionaries, people whose perspectives are rooted in culture, resilience, and truth. And sometimes your host steps into the silence alone, offering gentle reflections on global issues through the lens of compassion, curiosity, and care. This is a space for listening deeply, for honoring differences, and for finding connection and complexity. Because in a world that often divides us, voices from around the world dares to weave us together one story at a time. This isn't just a topic, it's a prayer, a vision, a longing for what humanity could become if we remembered our deepest truths. We're explored the unseen, the uncelebrated, and the misunderstood, the fragile strength of belonging, the hidden courage and compassion, and a radical possibility of peace. Because my wish for the world is not about perfection, it's about presence, it's about choosing connection over isolation, courage over silence, and hope over despair. So join me as we journey together in this wish. A wish that asks us to pause, to reflect, and to imagine a world where we truly remember we belong to one another. Before we begin, let's arrive together. Find a comfortable position. Close your eyes if that feels safe. Take a deep breath in.

SPEAKER_01: 3:20

Hold and release.

SPEAKER_00: 3:25

Again. Inhale, hope. Exhale, tension. Feel the weight of your body supported by the earth. Notice the rhythm of your breath. Steady, ancient, faithful. With each inhale, imagine drawing and light. And with each exhale, imagine release and heaviness. Now, bring to mind an image of the world. Not as borders or maps, but as a living, breathing organism. See it glowing, fragile, resilient. Whisper silently. I am part of this world. I belong. I invite you to carry this awareness as we step into today's episode. Look around. The climate, both literal and metaphorical, is shifting. The earth quires out, storms stronger, fires fiercer, seasons unpredictable. We see oceans rising, forests thinning, animals displaced, and the soil itself aching underneath the weight of our neglect. And the human climate mirrors it. Anger rising, fear spreading, loneliness deepening. Headlines fractures our spirits. We witness wars that tear families apart, injustice that silences voices, and the quiet violence of indifference. The way people turn away, squirrel past, or numb themselves to suffering. Everywhere there is noise. Noise of division, of arguments, of endless commentary. Noise that drowns out the simple truth that we are hurting, we are tired, and we are longing for something more. And yet, in the midst of chaos, I feel something stirring. It is faint, like the first light before dawn. It is fragile, like a sea pushing through cracked concrete. It is persistent, like the heartbeat that refuses to stop. A question rises in me. What if we chose differently? What if we remember that beneath the noise, beneath the wounds, beneath the stories we tell about who belongs and who does not? Instead we remember that we are one body, one breath, one fragile miracle of existence? What if we remember that the same sun warms us all, the same moon pulls at our ties, and the same air fills our lungs? What if we remember that every child's laughter, every elder's wisdom, and every stranger's kindness is part of the same great tapestry? Because here's the truth. The fractures are real, but so is the possibility of repair. The grief is heavy, but so is the capacity for joy. The violence is loud, but so is the whisper of peace to be heard. And I believe deeply that if we chose differently, if we chose compassion over cruelty, presence over destruction, courage over silence, then the climate of our humanity could shift. Not overnight, not perfectly, but steadily, like the turning of seasons. This is the stirring I feel. This is the invitation I hear to remember, to return, and to reclaim to our shared belonging. I want to tell your story, not of triumph, but of fragility, not of victory, but of lost, and the quiet courage that followed. Recently I felt despair pressing down on me. A community space I had belonged to for years suddenly closed. It was more than a platform, it was a lifeline. It was where voices met across oceans, where friendships blossomed in the cracks of distance and where healing was not just spoken, but lived. And when it disappeared, it felt like the ground beneath me had shifted. I grieved not just the space, but the rhythm of belonging it carried. I grieved the conversations that would no longer happen, the laughter that would no longer echo, the rituals of care that had been woven into its walls. Maybe you felt something like that too. The sudden ending of a chapter you weren't ready to close. The silence after a goodbye you didn't choose. The echo of realizing that something you thought was permanent was in fact fragile. It is a particular kind of heartbreak, the loss of community. Because community is not just about gathering, it is about being seen. And when that space vanished, I felt unseen, unteetered, uncertain. But here's the truth. In that silence, I heard something else. A whisper, a reminder that spaces can't be rebuilt, that connection is not confined to platforms or borders, that healing is not a luxury, it is a necessity. And so my wish for the world began to crystallize. I wish for us to build circles of belonging, circles where no one is cast out for their difference, circles where grief is held tenderly, joy is celebrated fully, and silence is honored as sacred. I imagine circles where we can show up messy, imperfect, human, and still be welcomed. Circles where vulnerability is not weakness, but the doorway to trust. Circles where we lay down our burdens and know someone will help us carry them. Because the truth is we are all fragile. We are all carrying stories that ache. We are all longing for a place where we can exhale and say, Here I am safe. Here I am home. And I believe those circles are possible. I believe they can be built in litter rooms, in classrooms, in parks, in digital spaces, in whispered prayers, and in shared meals. I believe they can be built whenever two or more people choose to meet each other with compassion and love. My wish for the world is not grand or complicated. It is simple, but it is radical. That we remember how to belong to one another, that we remember how to hold each other's fragility with reverence. That we remember healing is not something we wait for, it is something we create together. My wish is spiritual, not bound by religion, but by reverence, not confined to doctrine, but flowing through the quiet places of the heart. Reverence for the earth beneath our feet, this ground that holds us, even when we forget to honor it. Reverence for the breath in our lungs, the miracles that sustains us, the rhythm that reminds us that we are alive. Reverence for the stories carried in our bodies, the ancestors who walked before us, the wisdom etched into our lineage, the resilience that pulses through our veins. I imagine a world where we pause, where we listen not just to the words, but to the spaces between them, where silence is not feared but welcomed as sacred, where we honor elders, children, and those who have been marginalized, the voices too often ignored, the wisdom too often dismissed, and the beauty too often overlooked. I imagine rituals of care woven into daily life, meals shared without hurry, where laughter and tears are both welcomed at the table, hands extended without hesitation, reaching across devise, across differences, across wounds, forgiveness offered without condition, not because it is easy, but because it is necessary for our survival. My wish is that we remember the sacredness of ordinary moments, the way sunlight spills across a kitchen floor, the way a child's laughter can soften even the hardest heart, the way a stranger's kindness can remind us that goodness still exists. Healing, I believe, is collective. It is not something we achieve alone, locked away in isolation. It is something we create together in circles of belonging, in communities of care, in a fragile yet powerful act of showing up for one another. No one is free until we are all free. The liberation of one soul is tied to the liberation of all. And so my wish is that we stop pretending we can separate ourselves from each other, that we stop believing the lie of individualism, that my healing can happen while yours is ignored, that my joy can flourish while your grief is silenced. Because the truth is we are bound together, bound by breath, by earth, by story, bound by the invisible threads of compassion and responsibility, bound by the undeniable reality that what happens to one of us ripples through all of us. I imagine a world where we live is this is true, where policies are shaped not by profit but by care, where communities are built not on exclusion, but on welcome, where spirituality is not about rules, but about reverence, reverence for life itself. My wish is spiritual because it asks us to remember the holiness of being human, to remember that every face we encounter is a reflection of the divine, to remember that every act of kindness is a prayer, to remember that every moment of courage is a ritual of hope. And I know this wish may sound impossible. I know the world feels fractured, cynical, exhausted, but I also know that the seeds of reverence are already being planted, and the way neighbors care for each other in times of crisis, and the way movements rise up to demand justice, and in the way artists, healers, and dreamers remind us of beauty when we are tempted to forget. My wish is spiritual because it is rooted in love. Love that is fierce enough to confront injustice, love that is tender enough to credit grief, love that is expansive enough to hold difference, love that is resilient enough to endure. And so I speak this wish aloud, not as a distant dream, but as a living prayer. May we pause, may we listen, may we honor, may we forgive, may we heal together. But let me be honest. This wish is not easy. It is not neat, not polished, not wrapped in certainty. I wrestle with cynicism. I wrestle with exhaustion. I wrestle with the temptation to turn away, to close my eyes, to pretend it doesn't matter. There are days when the headlines feel louder than hope. Days when the fractures in our world seems too deep to mend. Days when I squirrel through endless streams of suffering and feel my chest tighten my spirit den. Days when I wonder if my small voice matters at all. If speaking into the vastness of this world is anything more than a whisper swallowed by the wind. And I want to confess something. Sometimes I feel powerless. Sometimes I feel like my longing for healing is naive, like my wish for compassion is too fragile to survive in a world that rewards cruelty. Sometimes I feel like I'm carrying water in my hands, watching it slip through my fingers, no matter how tightly I try to hold it. Have you felt that too? The ache of wanting to make a difference, but doubting whether you can. That heaviness of caring so deeply that it hurts and wondering if it would be easier not to even care at all. I wrestle with that. I wrestle with the voice inside of me that says, it's too late. Nothing will change. I wrestle with the fatigue of showing up again and again, only to feel the weight of injustice pressing harder. I wrestle with the loneliness of believing in a vision that sometimes feels invisible to others. And yet, despite all of this, I return to the truth. The truth that vulnerability is strength, the truth that honesty is medicine, the truth that even the smallest act of care shifts the world, even if only by a fraction, even if only for a moment. Because I have seen it. I have seen how kind words can soften anger. I have seen how listening ear can ease grief. I have seen how a single act of courage can ripple outward, inspiring others to stand taller, to speak louder, and to love harder. And so, trembling but resolute, I speak my wish out loud. May we choose compassion over cruelty, even when cruelty feels easier, even when compassion costs us something. May we choose presence over destruction, even when distraction numbs us, even when the presence asks us to feel the full weight of our reality. May we choose courage over silence, even when silence feels safer, even when courage exposes us, even when speaking truth shakes the ground beneath us. This is not easy. This is not simple, but it is necessary. Because the world does not change through perfection, it changes through persistence, through the raw, imperfect, trembling voices that refuse to be quiet, through the fragile but fierce acts of care that reminds us that we are all still human. So I confess my doubts, my weariness, my fear, but I also confess my hope. Hope that even in the cracks a light can enter. Hope that even in the fractures healing can begin. Hope that even in the smallest of gestures the world can shift. And I invite you to hold that hope with me. Not as certainty, but as courage. Not as guarantee, but as a choice. A choice we make every day, in every moment, and in every breath.

SPEAKER_01: 25:40

I now invite you to a close of meditation.

SPEAKER_00: 25:48

Let's return to the breath. Inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. Let yourself soften. Let your shoulders drop. Let your jaw clench. Let your heart open. Even just a little. Imagine yourself standing in a vast circle of humanity. People of all culture, every language, every story, hand in hand. Feel the warmth of connection radiating outward like sunlight spreading across the horizon. Notice the faces in this circle. Some are familiar. Friends, family, loved ones. Some are strangers. People you may never meet, but whose lives are intertwined with yours in ways unseen. Some carry joy in their eyes. Some carry grief in their posture. Some carry resilience in their breath. And yet, all are here.

SPEAKER_01: 27:25

All are part of the circle. Take a breath. Feel yourself standing there.

SPEAKER_00: 27:38

As you breathe, send compassion to someone you love. Let your breath carry gratitude, tenderness, and care towards them. See their face soften as they receive it. As you breathe again, send compassion to someone you struggle with. It may feel difficult, even impossible. But imagine your breath as a bridge, gentle, steady, reaching across the divide. Not to erase the pain, but to remind you both of your shared humanity. And as you breathe once more, send compassion to yourself. Let your breath create the parts of you that feel weary, the parts that feel broken, the parts that feel unseen. Whisper silently. I am worthy of care. I am worthy of love.

SPEAKER_01: 29:01

I am enough. Stay with that. Let it sink in.

SPEAKER_00: 29:13

Now let the circle expand beyond your room. Beyond your city. Beyond your nation. See the earth wrapped in a blanket of care. See rivers flowing clean. Forest standing tall, children laughing freely. See communities gathering in peace, neighbors helping neighbors, strangers offering kindness without hesitation. Imagine a circle stretching across oceans, mountains, deserts, and skies. Imagine it holding every refugee, every elder, every child, every dreamer, and every healer. Imagine it holding those who feel forgotten, those who feel invisible, those who feel alone.

SPEAKER_01: 30:26

Take a breath.

SPEAKER_00: 30:28

Let yourself fill the vastness of this circle. Stay here for a few breaths. Let peace settle into your bones. Let hope rise in your chest. Let love remind you you are not alone. And if doubt creeps in, if you wonder whether this vision is too fragile, too impossible, return to the breath. Because every breath is proof of resilience. Every breath is a reminder that life continues. Every breath is a prayer, a promise, a possibility. So breathe. Breathe for yourself. Breathe for those you love. Breathe for those you struggle with. And breathe for the world. And as you exhale, let your breath carry this push outward. May compassion ripple across the circle. May peace find its way into every heart. May love remind us again and again that we belong to one another. Take one final deep breath. Inhale hope.

SPEAKER_01: 32:11

Exhale, love.

SPEAKER_00: 32:16

This is my wish for the world. That we remember we belong to one another. That we choose compassion over cruelty. That we live as if peace is possible because it is. Peace is not a distant dream. It is not something reserved for saints or visionaries. It is something we create moment by moment, choice by choice, breath by breath. It begins in the way we speak to one another. It begins in the way we listen. It begins in the way we decide, even in the smallest of moments, to choose love over fear. And I leave you with two voices of wisdom that have carried humanity through his darkest nights. Martin Luther King Jr. was said, Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. His words remind us that our lives are bound together, that the pain of one is the pain of all, and the liberation of one is the liberation of all. Mother Teresa reminded us, peace begins with a smile. Her words reminds us that peace is not abstract. It is intimate, personal, and embodied in the smallest gestures of kindness. May these words echo in your heart. May they guide your steps. May they remind you that the smallest act of kindness ripples outward into eternity. That every smile, every moment of courage, every act of compassion is a seed planted in a soil of tomorrow. So I invite you to carry this wish into your daily life. Speak it when you feel silenced. Live it when you feel worried. Embody it when the world tells you to turn away. Because the truth is, you matter. Your voice matters. Your presence matters. And when you choose compassion, you choose peace. When you choose courage, you're shaping the climate of humanity itself. Together, we can be the prayer. Together, we can be the healing. And together, we can be the wish fulfilled. And so I leave you with this vision. A world where children laugh without fear. A world where elders are honored for their wisdom. A world where strangers greet each other with kindness. A world where differences are not threats, but gifts. A world where peace is not a dream, but a daily practice. This is my wish. This is our work. This is our world. I thank you for being here with me today on Voices Around the World. I'm your host, Oba Dive. Until next time.