When Nature Speaks Through Lack
Sometimes it seems to me that the real crises in my life—especially the financial ones, those moments of tightening, of inexplicable scarcity, of anxiety that digs into my ribs—do not come from external circumstances but from a displacement of my inner rhythm. I write this in the quiet of dusk, as the daylight slowly withdraws from the windows and the room fills with that particular darkness that doesn’t frighten but instead invites honesty. In this half-light, I begin to see more clearly what I avoid during the day: that every time I force myself to act against my own inner “seasonality,” some form of loss emerges—and often it manifests exactly as financial emptiness, as a halt in the flow, as a symbolic sign that I have separated myself from the natural spring of life. The more I reflect on this, the more clearly I realize that for me money has never been just numbers or exchange value. I’ve always felt it as energy, as an external indicator of internal order. And when that or...
