strung together
we live in a forest
Trees in a forest communicate. They don’t vibrate their innards to send sounds to one another. It’s said that beneath the ground they have something like a nervous system — root systems of different plants connected via fungal filaments, sending messages across the forest. What looks like a group of unrelated plants is much more: this is a web, these roots are woven together.
Above the ground, there is man — a creature that too often identifies with its isolation, believing it natural to exist alone. How many days do we wonder why we feel so distant from the world, so tired after spending too much time by ourselves? The brain forgets obvious answers. Consider the Vampire Weekend lyric: “our disease is the same one as the trees / Unaware that they've been living in a forest.”
Can you imagine the soil beneath the forest as a house party or a dinner table? Two oak trees make conversation about the weather, and before long, they’re connected physically. Slowly, the group of trees starts to feel like a community rather than a set of individuals. One warns another about the changing weather, the other shares some extra resources in preparation.
Above the ground, there is man — we talk at parties, at restaurants and potlucks. We meet strangers at an event and ask each other how we know the host or the person who brought us. “What sort of filament ties you two together?” Sometimes the answer is short, sometimes long. So often, we forget how we first met the ones dear to us, as we think more about the ways that we love them in the present rather than the past. The story wanders as you try to remember what moment brought you together. And as you answer, an invisible thread emerges from you to me.
As we talk of one origin story, another one begins. The connection may be strong, may be nothing at all, but a thread is a thread. We may run into each other again and again, adding more threads to our connection until it spins into a string, even a rope. At another party, maybe years later, someone else is asking us the same question, and we try to recall this moment, our conversation that one night.
Among these connections, in a raucous room of weak ties, the crossing strings almost seem visible, a glowing tapestry. Threads are added every moment, sometimes wrapping together again and again: a third conversation transforms acquaintances into friends, a second conversation begins to spark into a life-changing romance. The memories, the joy of being in a group — it’s as natural as the rain. Nature selected this for us, the unshakeable need to create connections, reinforced by repetition across species for thousands and thousands of years.
The feeling is so strong that I can’t help but wonder: what else is the rest of our life is for other than to fuel these moments? A job is to pay for the hastily purchased side dish at the friendsgiving, a novel is read to share a conversation, a writing hobby exists to make language clearer in conversation. What other purpose could there be? Are we not all meant to be here now? Didn’t fate lead us from dust into life, cells into organisms, animals into civilization, just for this moment?
We must do what we can to push back against the genocide in Gaza and the invasion of Lebanon. Consider calling your US representatives to support de-escalation and a ceasefire, donating to Care for Gaza (grassroots organizations delivering food to Palestinians), directly to families or by buying e-SIMs to keep folks connected to their families. Lebanon is suffering too— consider donating to the Lebanese Food Bank, The Zahra Trust, or Beit El Baraka to help provide relief and resources.
💧 Drops of the Week 💧
ALBUM - A Night in Tunisia by Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers - man, this is an album! what a great name of a band too!
POEM - “My Life Was the Size of My Life” by Jane Hirshfield - There were times my life and I made jokes together