The Quiet Rebellion: Nature, Whimsy, and a World Gone Mad
Coexistence as Defiance in a Time of Division
In the week since the new president was sworn in, so much of my life has been thrown into chaos or placed on hold. My plans for a legal name and gender change this summer now hang in jeopardy, thanks to an executive order designed to erase people like me from public life. The conversations I hear around me feel harsher, coarser. At school, we prepare for ICE raids, knowing the terror they will bring to our students and their families. And at the markets, AI-driven pricing extracts every possible penny from my already meagre pay, leaving each paycheque worth less and less.
It’s overwhelming. So often, I retreat into the theatre of my mind, a place where whimsy reigns, and the world’s cruelties fade into the background. In this space, I find myself seeing the natural world differently—through a lens of intentionality and wonder. The jackrabbit on the path, the crows in the trees, the coyote at the edge of the brush—they remind me that all this human nonsense is just that: nonsense. What matters is the life around me, the intricate balance of a world that still carries beauty, even amidst destruction.
And so, a simple walk to the mailbox becomes an act of rebellion, a way to connect with the timeless rhythm of nature and step outside the chaos of human systems.
On Contrasts …
And then there’s the language of the ruling class, their obscene justifications for cruelty. Phrases like “social Darwinism” and “survival of the fittest” are wielded to defend exploitation and greed, as though they were natural law. Yet this obscures two truths: first, none of them have ever actually read Darwin. And second, Darwin observed something entirely different—species survival depends not on competition but on cooperation. Nature thrives through interdependence and balance, not division and hoarding.
Yet all I’ve seen this week is division. The ruling class, however, has never seemed more united—against us, the working class. Their appointments to power feel like farce, almost a dare. A Fox News host now sits as Secretary of War, whilest the planet boils, and the plunder of Ukraine and Palestine goes unchecked. The message is clear: more division, more pain, more chaos for us below, whilst they cement their grip above.
So, I walk. Down the dirt road toward the mailbox at the edge of the tarmac, this small act feels like liberation. The world’s absurdities fade as I meet my neighbours—the jackrabbit pauses mid-hop, the crows call out from their perches, and the coyote watches quietly from the brush. I greet them all, thanking them for their part in making our little slice of the ridge a happy and joyful place. Together, they keep the rhythm of this chaparral forest, each playing their role in maintaining the harmony of our shared home. Here, nature reminds me of what truly matters: not the false narratives of competition, but the quiet beauty of coexistence and care.
A Stroll to the Mailbox
The quarter mile stretches,
a ribbon of dust and stone,
lined with sagebrush whispers
and the watchful eyes of the chaparral.
I step softly,
barely a ripple in the fabric of the forest,
yet they see me—
the jackrabbit’s ears flick,
the quail scatter like whispers of wind,
and the coyote pauses,
half-shadow, half-sunlight.
“Hello,” I say,
to the crow perched high,
its wings folded in solemn conversation.
I nod to the squirrels,
dashing in spirals,
their chatter a music
only they can compose.
Each step is a hymn of thanks—
to the jackrabbit for pruning the brush,
to the quail for sifting the seeds,
to the coyote for keeping balance.
I am the visitor here,
and they are the caretakers.
The air is alive,
charged with something electric—
the crackle of being seen,
of being part of this wild harmony.
Out here, I am no oddity.
Autistic, trans, whimsical—
to the forest, these words mean nothing.
I am just another creature on the path,
offering quiet greetings
to the life that surrounds me.
By the time I reach the mailbox,
my heart is lighter,
my spirit as open as the sky.
For even in this simplest of journeys,
I find connection—
to them, to the earth,
and to the stardust within.
A Reflection …
Christian Nationalism and capitalism—two forces so intertwined they might as well be redundant—operate on the shared belief that humanity stands above nature, not as part of it. To them, nature is a resource, something to plunder without consequence or limit. This ideology erases the reciprocity and balance at the heart of life itself, replacing it with extraction and profit.
We see it in Ukraine, where the neo-liberal puppet president openly declares the country’s resources and industries are for sale. The bountiful farmland, once the lifeblood of the Ukrainian people, now enriches foreign agribusiness, leaving the nation’s wealth in the hands of outsiders. And closer to home, the Tangerine Tyrant recently scolded West Asian nations for not taking in Palestinians, as though Gaza’s people must be cleared out to make way for beachfront settlements and the so-called “re-development” of Gaza. No one is saying the quiet part quietly anymore.
The current administration, for all its pretences of diplomacy, is complicit too. When Biden sold bombs to Israel, it came with a shrug—what can be done—a feigned helplessness in the face of genocide. With the Orange Emperor, there is no such pretense. Ethnic cleansing must be done now, and our so-called allies in West Asia must absorb the displaced, clearing the land for capitalist dreams of redevelopment.
It’s all so overwhelming, this endless spiral of destruction. Human systems feel irredeemable, as though they exist solely to spread division and pain. And so, I retreat. I retreat into the theatre of my mind, into whimsy, into nature—a bulwark against the despair that threatens to consume me.
The jackrabbit and the coyote do not care about borders, bombs, or presidents. They care for this ridge, for the rhythm of life that sustains us all. And whilst I can still walk down this dirt road and greet them, I will. I acknowledge the privilege of this escape—it is not one everyone can enjoy. But for now, in this moment, it is what keeps me grounded … and sane. It is what reminds me that there is still beauty, still joy, still connection to be found amidst the wreckage of human systems.