Once upon a time, in the days of “long ago and far away,” there was a land among many lands.

Like in all tales, there were good people and bad people; on one side anger, grudge, hatred—on the other, hope, on the other, patience, on the other, dignity.

Those who carried anger, grudge, and hatred in their satchels were called evil.

These evil ones, who carried the fire of hell in their hands, were blind to the beauty spoken by the tongues of their mothers, fathers, grandfathers, and grandmothers. They turned away from kind words, they were estranged from contentment.

So it happened that these so-called outlaws, grown too large in their greed yet small in their hearts, coveted some people’s wealth, others’ honor. Some they struck where they stood, some they pursued stealthily, from the shadows.

Humankind, like birds, fled and fled from this chaos—for otherwise tears, sorrow, and suffering would never leave their side.

The ancients did not search for tracks, nor chase trails.

Thus, those who escaped the hands and palms of the wicked migrated too, like birds—migrating from their beloved homeland.

They migrated, almost migrated, became migration itself.

Like Adam’s descent to earth, their second life was harsh, burdened with pain and trial.

They looked right, they looked left; not knowing the land, not knowing the language—imagine a person with no house, no home, children hungry and empty-handed.

The ancients did not search for tracks, nor chase trails.

Step by step, gently, slowly, carefully.

And those good-hearted people—migrant-bird-hearted, lovers of migrant birds—in whose hearts God had planted seeds of kindness, also set out. Crossing mountains, plains, and valleys, fording rivers and diving into lakes, they searched for these entrusted souls whose news had come from the sky like birds.

Here is the world, here is goodness, here is beauty. And when, a little further on, they found the migrant birds, wilted and fading, they did nothing but embrace them—long and tight—breathing them in, shedding pearls of tears, turning round and round.

After a breath, after a while, they said:
“We heard news of you, we set out to find you, to bring healing once we found you.”

And they said:
“Praise be to the One who reunited us with you. Welcome, oh beautiful migrant birds.”

This is the story of the broken-hearted, wingless migrant birds.

This is an epic story—the story of EpicMigrations.

…

Once upon a time…
Long ago and far away…
Among the migrant birds who did not resist their fate, but ran toward it.

—

We are people who believe that not every problem can be solved at its root, but that with faith it can be managed. Since 2019, we have continued our journey, and as of 2021, we carry it forward as an association. Our goal is to explore and reveal the potential for migration to be managed—through essays, articles, projects, reports, and fieldwork—and to work toward this end. Together with all our volunteers and advisory scholars, we walk this path.