A couple nights ago I had an interesting dream.
In my dream, I was flying high above the South Pacific, looking down from the clouds. Meanwhile, my daughter Whitney was swimming thousands of miles from shore on her way to South America. She was perfectly calm, though it would seem impossible to find a child in the middle of the ocean.
I hovered above the surface of the water and said, "Whitney, you're going the wrong way. We have work to do." Hand in hand, the two of us flew to Easter Island.
When we arrived, a group of indigenous islanders greeted us and asked us to assist with two projects. First, they asked us to help re-forest a portion of the island. Second, they asked us to help restore an ancestral ceremony that had been lost. For a while, the people appeared somewhat lost and confused as they stood around looking at one another. But after a short time, their genetic memory began to function beyond conscious thought to re-create the ancient movements. The men and women stood on opposite sides of a field and danced. As they moved toward the center, they sang of words that had once been forgotten.