There on the other side. This lush green and sterile grey island is said to have moved away from us. From Europe. From Gaia. Reminiscent of past empires, suffocating in the smoke of modernity, drowned in the tears of a colonized planet, lost somewhere between nightmarish traumas and new beginnings.

Before this dark age, it was the land of faeries, witches and druids, enchanting and awakening tribe travelers for so many years with the gentle mystery and wisdom of this place. A place of deep opening. A place of underlying potential. Here again, an encounter with the cycles of life. Today again, tribes of the rainbow, making magic together.

The wheel of fortune is turning again

Where industrialization saw the birth of one of the first paper mills in modern monkey history, the waterways were abundantly flowing through the land, through the veins of the turning economy animated by promises of redemption, connecting minds with the new medium, and by the hands of what became workers without land.

Selgars, the land of the Mill today is a place of being, a place of becoming, a place of belonging. Grounded in the sacredness of Mother Earth. Flowing with the truth in our hearts. Shining in our kaleidoscopic beauty. Dreaming into being the age of regeneration. This is the birth of a new age. A jump. A step. A dive. A fall. An awakening to abundance.

Holy Mother Earth, we had forgotten where we come from. Forgotten your experience, your endurance, your embracement of your children, us, these monkeys that wanted to be gods. We are waking up to our refertilised dream. We plant the seeds for ecocivilisations, deeply rooted in your core. This is an island of hope. An oasis of light. A womb of potential.

We flow together, gathering to breathe, to play, to learn, to heal, to create, to dance, to love, to just be. We welcome the tears like rivers crossing a dark, deserted city planet. Infusing our system with the sweet essence of these greater truths. We listen to the felt waves of oceans in our craving hearts. Fear and anger go their way. Flow of life, so pure, so soft, so dynamic.

Effortlessly, the wise winds bring us together to carry the seeds of hope into our lands. The storm of modernity still blowing bullshit into our face, a restless mindfuck from empty hearts. Oh fresh breeze, eternal gratitude for the wildly enlivened stories of transformation in a hurricane of extinction narratives. We breathe out a gentle storm of change.

A new spark in our hearts, the birth of light for a fresh start. Intentionally creative liminal space on the fertile ashes of modernity. Shining beyond what seems impossible. Bodies sexily dancing. Angry burned-out children of the sun, your time has now come. Sacred fire, shine so bright, illuminate what’s right, to walk to the unknown with the deep waters mirroring your throne.    

We are the regenerators, the healers, rebuilders, leaders of the heart, visionaries, creators, storytellers, faeries, druids, witches, community fertilisers, lovers, myceliators of modernity, beautiful souls, weavers of wonders, emerging enchanters, the children of Gaia. We are the ancestors birthing the age of thrivability. We are coming home.

Old, new alchemy, that’s for us to see.