Everything is unraveling.
Democracy falters. Genocide is live-streamed. The climate collapses. Old systems: patriarchy, capitalism, even monogamy, crack open. There’s mass migration, rising waters, no clear way forward. And in the middle of all that, something in me has stopped trying to fix it. I no longer chase the illusion that it’s all supposed to be different.
What remains, what feels honest now, is stillness. Not the kind that comes from detachment or defeat, but the kind that feels like returning to the earth. To silence. To something much older than panic.
I used to think death was the end: dark, fearsome, final. But now I feel it more like a presence. A constant. A quiet voice that says: Look. This is what’s real. Everything else comes and goes.
And in that stillness, I can finally rest. Not because things are okay, but because I’ve stopped pretending I can outrun what is. Death doesn’t frighten me. She steadies me.
