When we do not really know where the boat comes from, where it is going, what is the meaning of the wind that arises, of the clouds that are gathering, of the rain that is running off or of the thunder that is rumbling…

Has the time not come to view migration, our migration, not with resistance, sometimes fierce, but with kindness, so as to break down our walls of communalism?

What place do we give to "spirituality" in our "travels", in our "migrations"?

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