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We once knew how to live in rhythm with the world.
Nature was our mirror, our teacher, reminding us that life isn’t a series of binaries but an endless web of movement, cycles, and possibility. But somewhere along the way, we forgot. Or maybe we were made to forget.
Nature doesn’t exist in binaries. It thrives in spectrums, cycles, and interconnected webs, where opposites aren’t fixed points but movements within a greater whole. Day bleeds into night. Life and death fold into one another. Even in systems that humans often simplify, like gender, nature resists the rigid lines those with influence try to draw. It’s wild, fluid, and endlessly varied.
But humans have this tendency to impose control on what they fear or don’t fully understand, and I can’t help but feel like the attempt to erase the gender spectrum is another way we’re being pulled further from nature — and from ourselves.
It’s a quiet, calculated severance from the truth of our own existence. We’re being distanced from the rhythms we’re meant to inhabit, the ones that connect us to the natural world. It’s disorienting, and it feels deliberate.
I can’t ignore the kyriarchal fingerprints all over this. The systems of power —capitalism, The Church, the whole machine — they thrive on disconnection. They need us dependent, fractured, and searching outside of ourselves for answers they claim to hold.
Because if we were to sink back into the cycles of nature, back into the truth of our bodies and our spirits, we wouldn’t need their rules. We wouldn’t need their products. We wouldn’t need their salvation. And that terrifies them.
The planet is burning, ecosystems are collapsing, and those in power don’t seem to care. Why would they? They’ll either die before it impacts them, or they’ll retreat into their billion-dollar bomb shelters. To them, the earth is just a resource to be exploited, another thing to conquer and control. They’ve forgotten — or never cared — that they’re part of this web, too. That when you sever the roots, you kill the tree.
And maybe that’s why I feel this simmering sense of disenfranchisement in the work I do, some days. Not because I’m not in love with the work I do... But because the assault is coming from every angle. It’s everywhere — this calculated disconnection. And I’m just one person. One human trying to remind others that they’re already connected, that they’re already enough. One human trying to push back against centuries of systems designed to keep us disempowered.
I know there’s power in what I do. I see it in the way people resonate with my 1:1 offering Odyssey, with the readings from my interconnected-themed Oracle Deck (in progress) Cosmic Mycelium, with The Unseen Realm as a whole, and I see it resonate in the ways they open themselves up to conscious self-discovery and connection.
I know I’m creating ripples, and I know that matters.
But I also feel the enormity of what I’m up against.
I’m a Manifestor by design, Human Design that is. I know I have power, but learning to wield it has been… complicated. Manifestors are meant to initiate, to spark movements, but how do you fully step into that role when the world feels so loud, so hostile? Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to light a fire in the middle of a storm.
But then I remember: nature doesn’t rush, and it doesn’t force. It doesn’t demand perfection before the next season can begin. It just is. Maybe my role isn’t to take on every angle of the assault but to lean into the way I naturally move through the world. To trust that my unique path — my weaving, my words, my work — is enough to shift something.
And maybe that’s what power really is.
Not conquering or controlling but showing up, imperfectly, in alignment with the truth of who you are.
Because that truth? That’s what systems of power fear most.