This is a living threshold—
between the visible and the felt,
between land and language,
between seed and star.

Here, I tend the frequencies of remembrance.
I follow the call of paradise, not perfection—
and of a garden that grows not just food or flowers,
but myth, memory, and evolutionary possibility.

This dreaming is older than any brand or biography.
It is not mine. It is not yours.
It belongs to the wild.

I am one of the fieldkeepers.
I co-create with bees, ancestors, and celestial forces—notably Venus, whose light governs this garden far more than the Moon ever did.

You will not find urgency here.
Only invitation.
To slow down.
To listen.
To remember.

What you’ll find here is not a business—it’s a living cosmology:
a place where beauty is medicine,
where plants whisper their names,
where humans remember how to be pollinators again.

Walk gently.
The garden is dreaming you.