The Thread Is Dissolving

We’ve lost the thread to the old world. The plants, the soil, the quiet — they are the language now.

The world is quiet here.

And we are happy.

Hannah and I keep wondering why we’re so obsessed with growing things — why we love reading old books on biodynamic farming, and why it feels so good to break up compacted soil with a hoe.

We tend the land with compost, biochar, herbs.

We walk through the trees in silence.

We live off-grid on this side of the mountain, two miles from the nearest town, and even farther from the world we came from.

We didn’t live like this in our past.

We aren’t sure where the knowing comes from.

We question it all the time.

And still — we wake each day to do it again.

We’re losing our grip on the old world.

We used to hold a place there, mostly through social media. But that’s falling away. Facebook is gone. We keep a small Wild Altar presence, but not personally.

We don’t really know what’s happening in the U.S. anymore.

It feels like another planet in a solar system we once visited.

One we no longer orbit.

Our life here feels so real. So tactile.

When we go into the city, we find ourselves longing to return — not to escape the people, but because there’s a language we understand now that doesn’t speak in noise.

The trees.

The plants.

The rhythm of the terraces.

The low sun at the end of the day.

It’s all become its own ecosystem — infinite and never boring.

It feels remarkably human.

The thread that connected us to the old world is thin.

And dissolving.

We don’t know what’s ahead. But we know this is real.

If you’re living on the edge of a dissolving thread too, you’re not alone.

Let me know what’s feeling real for you now.