Sublime

In the middle years of my life I lived on four acres of land in Connecticut, a meadow completely enclosed within a forested wildlife preserve.

he’s left in the insanity of denying the bedrock of human existence. Property and mastery: nothing else counts. Earth will be monetized until all trees grow in straight lines, three people own all seven continents, and every large organism is bred to be slaughtered.

In the forest I manage, the lush green moss at the bottom of thick beeches is often brown and crispy dry come summer, and the little bears have absolutely no access to water. Then they fall into an extreme form of sleep. Only well-nourished tardigrades survive, and fat plays an important role. If moisture is lost too quickly, death follows; however

For only a very tiny sliver of that time, we’ve been organized in empires, doing this large-scale fucked up shit to the Earth and to each other. The vast majority of our wisdom, of our deep ecological knowledge, our ancestral wisdom, our ways of being in the world, is to care for each other in community. I have an exceedingly high level of certaint

Putting Native Americans back in the picture meant radically redefining what nature means and what the human place in it might be (another undoing of a dichotomy, the nature–culture divide, with profound implications for the environmental movement, which has not yet altogether come to terms with this revision of meaning).