I was standing there, a few thousand meters above sea-level. No cars, bikes, bricks or concrete. Nothing man-made, nothing fabricated. Only ancient rock, monumental mountains, streaming creeks, pine trees and air that clenched a thirst I forgot I had. Superficial breathing is an insult to this place. One week of remembering myself as part of nature. And back home I went. There, at home, I found 1 small tree in the street where I live. A few plants in my house. Some fruit flies and a couple of spiders in the kitchen and the bathroom. It's all the nature there is in my immediate surroundings. Not much else to remind me. Slowly a voice inside, that had been quiet up in the mountains, started whispering again, then talking, screaming. Crystal clear messages. Unmistakable: Stress. Anxiety. Tiredness. Boredom. An ongoing internal whirlwind of restlessness. And even with all that inner noise, the mind finds a way to justify these warning signs as harmless side effects of living in a city, in dense urban spaces. An inevitable fact of life here. But for me this way of living comes with a void that aches for attention. It urges me to consume, more and more. Products made out of resources derived from the same nature I was just visiting a few days ago. The same nature that completely erased the void that now so desperately needs to be filled. What a paradoxical reality to be faced with. Having unrecognizable distorted forms of nature delivered at my doorstep in a box, and being bored with them within a day, because it is not the real deal. At all... Well, fuck that shit. I'm going to the forest ✌🏼