I’m Tired of This Death Cult

(and other reflections on this scorpio new moon)

A few weeks ago, a camphor tree in my neighbor’s yard was cut down.

It was home to birds—a meeting place, a buffet, a perch with a view, shelter from storms. And it was removed without a second thought so someone could put up a fence. They killed a living tree to install a dead one.

There was no thought at all for the life that was taken. Less than no thought for the web of life that was affected by one careless decision. No consideration for how to have both things: life and division.

I’m tired of this death cult.

The one that doesn’t value life in all its forms. The one that always chooses convenience. The one that forgets that everything is in relationship.

And this—this—is part of the selfish reason I’m so committed to offering the work I do.

This past month, I offered a live lecture called Peeking Through the Looking Glass: Animism, the Forgotten Worldview That Could Change Everything—and opened the container for this year’s round of Dancing in the Dreamtime, a ceremonial journey into the heart of shamanic practice.

Both are offerings rooted in the animist perspective: the understanding that this world is so much more than we can see on the surface. That it is listening. That it is not made for us, but with us.

And so for me, the reason I say that animism is the thinking person’s perspective is multifold.

Of course, one reason is that this period of history we’re living through is heavy. It’s sad, and scary, and tense. And sometimes the most radical thing we can do in the face of all that is… make believe.

Maybe there’s a tree in your yard, or in a nearby garden, that you really like. So you begin cultivating a relationship with it. You name it. You say hello. You sit with it. You imagine it knows things. You anthropomorphize the tree and talk to it like a friend.

It might sound silly—but I genuinely believe this kind of play is good for our minds and spirits right now. It brings levity. It brings presence. And, over time, it shifts something deeper.

Because at some point… it’s not make believe anymore.

At some point you start wondering how long that tree’s been there. Whether it’ll outlive you. Whether your children’s children might someday rest beneath its branches. You start giving it a second thought when it’s time to redo the landscaping. And maybe that second thought extends—not just to that tree, but to all trees. The forest. The birds. The critters. The cardboard. The whole cycle.

That’s why I say it’s insidious. Because once you begin seeing the world as alive, you can’t unsee it.

And what would happen if—over the next twenty, forty, fifty years—a critical mass of humans started thinking like that?

Because we’ve seen what happens when harmful ideas gain traction. I’ve watched fringe theories become mainstream. I’ve heard conspiracies I first listened to on pirate podcasts come out of a President’s mouth. That’s the power of repetition. That’s the power of belief.

So what if the dominant belief was that the world is alive? That it deserves our reverence and our reciprocity? That there’s wisdom in the rocks and memory in the mycelium?

As far as I can tell… only good can come of that.

Not just for the trees—but for us. Because to live that way brings us back into relationship. It brings meaning to the mundane. It makes room for mystery. It reminds us we’re not alone.

And this is why I hold these spaces.

If you’d like to hear about future lectures, practices, and invitations, you can join my newsletter [here]. Let’s move with the seasons of the planet, and the seasons of life, together.

This article was originally published on Substack. You can read the original here.