Ever feel like the world’s stuck on repeat?
We vote, we get mad, we buy things, we shout into the void. And nothing real seems to shift. It’s like we’re all playing a game where the board itself is rigged, and we’ve been handed the rulebook since we were kids without ever questioning who wrote it.
We blame the politicians—the bad ones, the weak ones, the sell-outs. We rage at the billionaires and the greedy CEOs. But what if they’re not the real problem? What if they’re just… managers? Managers of a system that was built a long, long time ago, on a set of ideas that have slowly poisoned everything.
To see it, you gotta rewind the tape. Further back than they teach in school.
Once, we knew we were part of the land. The rivers, the forests, the animals—they weren’t just things. They were relatives. Life was a conversation. Then, slowly, we got the idea that we could own the land. That was the first crack. Once you own something, you can hoard it. You can sell it. You can exhaust it. You invent scarcity where there was only rhythm before.
Then we started outsourcing God. We traded the thousand different spirits of a spring, a mountain, an old tree, for one big, distant Authority in the sky. Our inner compass—that quiet knowing—got replaced with a scripture, a priest, a list of rules. We stopped listening to ourselves.
A few hundred years back, we were handed perhaps the most dangerous idea of all: that the universe is a dead machine. Beautiful science was twisted into a cold philosophy. If it’s all just cogs and matter, then nothing is sacred. The forest is just lumber. The cow is just beef. The human is just a worker, a consumer, a number. It gave us permission to strip-mine the soul right out of existence.
And the final, perfect trap? We invented a new kind of person. The corporation. A legal fiction with no heart, no soul, no children, no death. Its only drive: grow or die. That single, silent command now runs our world. It’s the engine in the basement of everything. Our politicians? They’re just up in the control room, arguing over the volume of the music, while the train is headed straight for the cliff. They don’t own the tracks. Their job is just to keep us from panicking until we get there.
No wonder it all feels so hollow. So lonely.
So what’s the way out?
It’s not about finding a better politician. It’s about changing the game.
Stop feeding the beast with your attention, your outrage. your consent . Your fear , That’s its fuel.
Grow something real.Know your neighbors. Buy or swap something like food from a person who grew it or swap something they made for something you made . That’s how you rebuild the kinship the old world stole from you.
And start valuing nature over material stuff .A quiet mind, a good chat, a moment of connection, the act of making something … that’s the real vibe. That’s the new cash of the world trying to be born.
The old cage only has power as long as we stand inside it, rattling the bars ,when the door has always been open.
The real rebellion is to simply…step out.
And start building something true,right where you are.