when i left the city and moved into the jungle, i thought i was coming here to rest. to create, to heal, to live slower. and while those things did happen, the jungle had deeper teachings waiting for me. it has a way of stripping you down to your truest self, gently but firmly. like a grandmother who loves you too much to let you stay asleep.
i’ve always been a doer—a quiet hustler. i’d wake up with lists, projects, and plans. but here, the land doesn’t move like that. she doesn’t rush for anyone. and at first, i resisted. i kept trying to move fast. but the jungle made it clear: you cannot fight nature.
the energy here is strong. sovereign. no matter how full my schedule is, if the river overflows, if the rain pours, if the sun demands stillness—i surrender. i’ve had to soften. and in that softening, i found my sensitivity again.
my body now rises with the sun and quiets with the dark. i eat slower. i breathe deeper. i speak less. not out of silence, but out of presence. everything is alive here—and it asks you to meet it with respect. not just the trees or the herbs, but the wind, the insects, the soil. they all hold stories. they all respond to your energy.
i’m becoming more sensitive. not just emotionally, but spiritually, physically, sensually. i can feel when the land is heavy. when the plants are ready. when my body needs to stop. the jungle reawakened that part of me—the one that knows without needing proof.
i’ve also learned that the jungle holds you, as much as you hold her. when you tend to the earth with care, when you walk softly and listen closely, she gives you back so much. clarity. calm. direction. protection. it’s a quiet exchange. a sacred one. you learn that this relationship is alive, and it goes both ways.
patience has been one of my greatest lessons.
everything here takes time. growth is slow. healing is seasonal. medicine doesn't come in quick fixes—it comes in cycles. and to live here is to trust the unfolding. to release control. to allow things to ripen on their own time.
the jungle made me gentler. not weaker—but wiser.
less about proving, more about feeling. less about chasing, more about returning.
she reminds me daily that softness is not the opposite of strength—it is strength.
i’m still learning. still softening. still being shaped by this wild, wise place.
stay long enough, and nature will re-teach you everything you forgot.