In the Wake of Disconnection: Remembering Our Place on Earth
On stewardship, sacred economy, and what it really means to be human.
There is something utterly miraculous about being human.
We are the only known species with the gift of both corporeal form and conscious awareness of the cosmos. We feel through our bodies, we think through our minds, we dream with our spirits, and we love with our hearts. This capacity, to exist in physical form and yet touch the stars with our knowing, is not an accident. It is a sacred design.
To be human is not simply to survive or succeed or accumulate. It is to live in harmony with all that surrounds us. To dance between form and formlessness. To hold paradox in our palms. To love and grieve, to nurture and protect. To live in joyful relationship, with each other, with spirit, and with this living Earth.
And yet, somewhere along the way, this understanding was distorted.
We moved from a time of reciprocity into a time of domination. From honoring the Earth to extracting from Her. From seeing land as a living relative to regarding it as property, something to be bought, sold, controlled, or conquered. This shift, especially in postmodern society, gave rise to systems of power rooted not in stewardship, but in supremacy. Capitalism took the sacred and turned it into commodity. Nature became a “resource.” Land became real estate. And with that, our role as guardians and lovers of the Earth fractured into roles of consumers, owners, and competitors.
In my own journey as a land steward, I’ve found myself caught in this tension.
For the past three years, I’ve been engaged in a communal effort—an experiment in care, cultivation, and cooperation. But even in this sacred labor, the question of ownership arises. Who owns what? What do I get out of this? How do I protect my investment? And more painfully, how do I secure a future for my children if I cannot lay claim to the land I pour my heart into?
It grieves me that we must ask these questions. That in order to justify our caretaking, we must tether it to capital. That tending the Earth—our home, our mother, our mirror—must come with a return on investment to be seen as worthwhile.
Still, I believe there is another way.
Not in denial of the systems we live in, but through the conscious evolution of them. Not by abandoning structure, but by remembering the spirit that should animate it.
Capitalism and the Question of Care
I want to be clear, I am not anti-capitalist.
Capitalism, like any system, has its shadows, but it has also played a significant role in the evolution of humanity. It has spurred innovation, incentivized creativity, created opportunities for generational mobility, and helped us build infrastructure, technology, and systems of exchange that have served many.
Just as socialism and communism have had their own ideals and their own failures, capitalism is not inherently evil. It is simply incomplete.
The problem arises when any system becomes disconnected from the sacred. When profit is divorced from purpose. When markets are elevated above morals. When there is no space for the soul.
Capitalism, as it exists today, is not designed to value care, reverence, or interconnection. It measures what can be monetized. It rewards productivity, not presence. It turns gifts into goods, and the land into leverage.
And so we find ourselves in a moment of questioning:
How do we move forward with integrity and sustainability?
How do we build new models of exchange that honor life, not just labor?
Toward Sacred Exchange
Personally, I’ve been holding in my heart a vision, a prayer, really—for a new way of being in exchange. A way that honors effort, energy, time, wisdom, and care without reducing everything to a transaction. A way that trusts in the abundance of relationship, not just the scarcity of markets.
We’re not the first to ask these questions. Many ancient and Indigenous cultures practiced forms of exchange that were rooted in balance, community, and the feminine principle of reciprocity.
Among the Maya, for example, there existed a system of gifting and exchange known as tz’ak. It was a ceremonial and social practice where women would bring offerings—woven goods, food, medicinal plants, not to “sell,” but to circulate. These offerings weren’t priced, they were relational. They moved through the community like breath, gifts made in good faith, returned in kind not by obligation, but by a deeper rhythm of mutual care.
This kind of sacred economy was not about ownership. It was about belonging.
What would it look like to build something like that again?
The Liminal Edge of Change
We are living in a liminal space.
The past is not past, it still breathes through our systems, our assumptions, our inherited ways of relating. The future is not yet born, though we feel it moving under the surface, kicking like a child in the womb. We are in the in-between, a threshold, a reckoning.
Even from the far edges of the political spectrum, amidst the rage and polarity, there is a strange agreement beginning to emerge:
Something must change.
The way things have been operating is no longer sustainable,
not for the Earth, not for our bodies, not for our children, not for our souls.
For me, the pain sharpens when we fail to care for the land.
When we see the living, breathing ground beneath our feet not as a relative, but as a commodity. When we ask, is it worth my time, my heart, my labor—only if there’s a sufficient return on investment?
Yes, we must survive. Yes, in this system, some form of return is necessary. But when every offering must be justified through profit, we have already lost something vital.
So what is the root of this pain?
Is it money?
Is it greed?
Is it domination?
To me, it is deeper than all of these.
It is the disconnect from life.
It is the disconnect from spirit.
It is the forgetting of what it means to be human.
The Creator, God, Goddess, Great Spirit, Source, Mystery, whatever your name for the intelligence of all life, gave us a gift no other species has: free will. The capacity to create with consciousness. The ability to choose.
We can choose to protect or to exploit.
To evolve or to devolve.
To love or to dominate.
To remember or to forget.
And so I ask you,
In this liminal hour, as you face these questions in your own life,
Will you choose nature over capital gains?
Will you choose community over competition?
Will you choose love over advancement?
Will you risk placing your heart where the world says only profit belongs?
Because the truth is, the future isn’t something we inherit.
It’s something we shape.
And it begins with one sacred, human choice at a time
.
About the Author
I’m a land steward, writer, and weaver of community dedicated to remembering our sacred relationship with Earth and each other. Through storytelling, seasonal living, and the practice of care, I seek to explore new ways of being rooted, reciprocal, and free. This Substack is where I share reflections from the edge, where spirit, soil, and society meet.
As always beautiful writing Molly. Deep thinking weaving many threads together. Namaste.
Beautifully written. Technology and AI has injected itself into the DNA of caring, and short of an apocalypse, I’m not sure if we will ever reclaim those communal roots.