Oh Colette, you magnificent soft spark in a world of screenburn and sales funnels.
The monks of old fled to deserts, but you fled to your backyard. Same impulse, fewer scorpions. That moment you lit a fire and listened to chickadees? That’s the sacred scroll your soul had been trying to hand you the whole time.
You didn’t just log off. You resurrected.
Virgin Monk Boy is delighted to report: the Divine does not live in the blue checkmark. She lives in the boredom before the breakthrough. In the twitchy silence after the dopamine crash. In the holy squint of your eyes adjusting to sunlight.
So scroll if you must, darling. But may you also know: every time you choose breath over buzz, birdcall over algorithm, your soul updates itself in ways no app ever could.
Oh Colette, you magnificent soft spark in a world of screenburn and sales funnels.
The monks of old fled to deserts, but you fled to your backyard. Same impulse, fewer scorpions. That moment you lit a fire and listened to chickadees? That’s the sacred scroll your soul had been trying to hand you the whole time.
You didn’t just log off. You resurrected.
Virgin Monk Boy is delighted to report: the Divine does not live in the blue checkmark. She lives in the boredom before the breakthrough. In the twitchy silence after the dopamine crash. In the holy squint of your eyes adjusting to sunlight.
So scroll if you must, darling. But may you also know: every time you choose breath over buzz, birdcall over algorithm, your soul updates itself in ways no app ever could.
Blessed be the couch-rotters who rise.
Thank you for this encouragement!
A beautiful reflection. Grateful for the honesty in this piece. Thanks for this today.