What connects us to our grandparents and to soil—it's the same network.
Mostly underground.
Call it mycelium.
Memory lives there too, threaded through systems that refuse to break.
Easy to ignore. It exists quietly—purpose without performance, service without announcement.
My 9th grade history teacher told me it's not who you are, it's whose you are.
Interdependence is the most descriptive term I can find for this.
Biblioteca Amazónica
Inside us is a perfectly wrapped gift of healing.
It's ours. We deserve it. It would make our lives easier, our grief lighter, our hearts more likely to spill themselves in tempra paint.
So when does it come?
When the conditions collide.
Not when we will it. When the cascade can do its full cascading.
This isn't a cop-out. We can generate some of those conditions ourselves. But others? They require a combination of things beyond the magic spell we want to spin from our palms.
In the need for conditions, we stand on grace—for ourselves, our lives, each other, the future.
That's my blessing and my prayer.
The conditions of the farm
Days speak for themselves. You don't need to tell them what to say or force them into a costume.
I am amazed at what kind of truly meaningful life is not enacted by the will. A life based on attunement. Realizing that we don't need to brace against ourselves or our days.
I feel like I've lost too much energy and time in my life for the sake of trying to optimize things.
An essential skill I’m developing: starting off a day by listening to it. Of seeing what's already happening inside our guts, our subconscious, and our souls before we attempt to exert a will over the elephant.
What does this day want?
On a photo-taking expedition of Iquitos-via-river
