Once the groundwork was laid —
the inner structure, the system, the solitude —
it became clear:
I didn’t want to just live in the world.
I wanted to live with it.
The cities never felt like home.
The grids, the noise, the bills-for-breath system.
What I needed was land.
Soil.
Space to grow food, grow family, and grow free.
So Elle and I sold everything.
Scraped together what we could.
Said goodbye to comfort.
And flew to Costa Rica.
We had one plan:
find a farm.
Start fresh.
And we did find a farm — but when we got there, it was in ruins.
Unlivable.
The dream on paper… collapsed in real life.
Suddenly, we were drifting.
No home.
No backup plan.
Just two adults and two kids.
We drove across the country.
Looking. Hoping.
Watching the bank balance bleed.
And then one day…
we were out.
Completely.
No money.
No food.
No roof.
We pitched a tent in the jungle nearby the beach,
cooked noodles over a fire,
and slept with machetes by our sides.
That was our life.
It was raw. Humbling.
But strangely — peaceful.
We weren’t plugged into the system anymore.
We were plugged into something older.
Then… we found it.
A jungle community.
Fully off-grid.
Solar panels.
Spring water.
Banana trees, pineapples, jackfruit, garlic, guavas, coconut palms.
A forest of abundance.
We moved in and stopped using money.
Didn’t need it.
Everything we needed, we grew.
Everything we used, we shared.
Everything we built, we built with our hands.
We lived like that for over a year.
Mornings started with the sound of howler monkeys.
Nights ended in candlelight.
We bathed in water from the rivers.
Walked barefoot.
Listened to the jungle’s soundtrack.
Elle was pregnant again.
Our third child — my second by blood — was growing inside her.
And somehow, amidst the dirt and the stillness,
I felt clean.
Alive in a way I hadn’t felt since childhood.
I recorded music with the locals.
Rapped with frogs in the background.
Sang with sweat dripping down my back.
No studio monitors. No plugins.
Just breath, rhythm, and presence.
It was paradise.
Not because it was easy —
but because it was true.
We were part of the land.
Not renting space on it.
Not visiting nature on weekends.
Of it.
But as always… paradise never comes without its test.
And ours was coming.
Chapter 8: The Inner Alchemist
I emerged from the jungle carrying silence. Not emptiness — but a kind of vibrating stillness I couldn’t explain. It followed me. Not in my thoughts — beneath them. The ceremonies had cracked something open. The plant spirits and Helena, the Spanish name that I addressed her by, had equipped [...]| Play | Cover | Release Label |
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