The world as we knew it is becoming quiet in a way that feels unfamiliar.

a living language demands what our modern language has trained out of us: vulnerability, presence, time. You can’t streamline connection. It asks us to stay. To listen. To listen intensely, so we can hear the nuance in others too.

We sometimes call it intuition, but it’s really the sum of inherited and lived experience telling you what matters right now.

what happens to a feeling that has no word? It doesn’t disappear, but it becomes invisible. And when it can’t be expressed, it opens a distance between me and everything around me.

The body became something one had , not something one was . And language followed. It turned into a tool - but for what? We learned to separate professional words from private ones, rational words from emotional ones, legitimate words from the ones that felt too charged. In that split, something was lost: our ability to speak with our whole selves,

We need a language for the living. Yes, we need the big narratives and manifestos, but that’s not where it begins. It begins in simple conversations. In the moments where we let go of who we think we need to be and choose to be present instead. Where we stop speaking about the world and start speaking with it - where we release our need to control

Much of modern business language comes from the military and carries a worldview of hierarchy, command, territory, enemies. We crush competitors. We fight for market share. We attack new segments. We mobilise teams. Someone wins. Someone loses. Someone is sacrificed. But ⁠

I think about how this shows up at work. How we learn to say “challenging” when we mean “impossible”, “an exciting opportunity” when we mean “a crisis”, “feedback” when we mean criticism that hurts. As if the real words were too dangerous to use.

in that silence - where the words remain but contact is gone - something essential fades.