There is another wall...here where US (Turtle Island) and Mexico share an ocean. 

My friend, Maribel, whose home is nearby, asks me if I’ve seen it.

”Have you seen the hearts... have you seen the other wall?”

I tell her I haven’t. 

“Go! You have to go!”

As I walk along the roaring ocean, I imagine that trillions and trillions and trillions of raindrops have gathered and organized themselves into One Body, to feel what it is like to be the One Body we call the Pacific Ocean.

The raindrops know they are mighty, but moving as one... even mightier. 

Together, they have the magic to heal, to love, to empower and be the force that brings Heaven to Earth.

“This wall is from the artists,” Maribel tells me. 

“The hearts are a response to that other madness.”

The “other madness” Maribel is referring to is the US border wall, just at the edge of Avenida De Pacifico.

As I walk along the ocean boardwalk, behind Avenida De Pacifico, my mind wanders to the place we went yesterday, where the refugees get legal services at a community center in Tijuana. That afternoon, I  watched “refugee kids” miraculously transform back into children... in the area where the babies wait while mom and dad are organizing, anxiously, sometimes through tears, with lawyers... the details of their imminent future and what will happen next?

It’s just a few feet away, but it’s another world. The babies are smiling, laughing, playing, giggling, sleeping and enjoying the several people who have gathered — like the raindrops — to become one healing body and yield love, quiet, safety, tenderness... toys... matchbox cars, painting sessions and dreaming of the princess or the elephant or the turtle in the picture their little hands are carefully guiding over the paper with a paintbrush as they dip for more color...magenta...

Yellow... orange.

A warm, safe bosom to nap, a drink of cool water, space to color into the lines on paper donated from a far away stranger who has read and hurt and made a donation... a warm tortilla dipped in beans and pressed between infant lips too tender to know anything but love.

Yesterday, we were reminded of the preciousness of the mundane as we gathered... like raindrops to quench the parched places of parents' nerves and the shaken places of the children’s delicate inner guidance system which is blinking hot red in the question...

“Can I still believe in this world?”

We did not all know one another... just agreed in our hearts that the killing and abuse of children-the tear gassing of Maria’s babies as punishment for seeking asylum in US; refusal of border patrol officers to quench the ache for thirst in precious Jakelin’s little body so that her Spirit, Giant and Mighty floated away from us; and the thousands and thousands of children separated from parents in detention camps right now — is just too much.  

Too much not to decide, like trillions and trillions of raindrops to come together as the one, healing body that can protect the children and be the peace in our world until a larger Peace emerges... bring Heaven to Earth.

And nothing, nary a laugh or a smile or a hug or a “gracias” or the sound of a tiny voice and a little hand tugging on your shirt asking for help in a choir of tiny voices offering thanks in that peaceful oasis, was taken for granted. 

Finally, I make it to the wall Maribel was talking about.

As the ocean smacks against the shore and fluffy white-silver foam sprays the wooden slats of boardwalk; I am standing at the place where Grace meets man-made disaster. The place where we meet in the darkness to be the light.

This wall is a coalescent force and acts as a people’s response to the brutality of policies that work against life, love and nature.

The hearts here are giant, warm, intelligent, complicated, life-giving and wonderful. 

And the wall... this wall is beautiful.