A few years ago, I lived next to a small bit of forest. The place became my grove, my hiding place from the world, a place of raw nature and unmediated experience away from the city and the internet and people.
It became a place of ‘pure being,’ and damn I fucking loved that place. There, I could ignore the really miserable conditions of city life. Capitalism didn’t matter there. Left/Right didn’t matter there. My rent payments and utility bills and job didn’t matter there.
The forest was Outside all that, a gate to the Other.
One day, it rained, so I hurried to the forest to go play in the stream. I loved that stream. I loved the spirits there– they always jabbing me for being too serious. We’d play, or I’d play and feel them playing with me. In fact, that whole place was the only site…
View original post 1,486 more words