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Independence isn’t what we’ve been told.

It isn’t fireworks or flags.

It’s the quiet decision to live aligned; again and again.

This morning, I’m feeling the hum beneath the noise. The part of me that knows: freedom isn’t force. It’s fidelity. A slow, rooted devotion to the life that reflects my values, not just my convenience.

I’ve been reading Braiding Sweetgrass, and it’s gently unbraiding something in me. The way English calls the Earth an it and how that shapes how we treat her. Like a resource. Not a relative. A thing. Not a who.

And I wonder, what would happen if we remembered Earth as kin, not commodity?

Maybe the end of greed isn’t a battle.

Maybe it’s a re-rooting.

This year, I moved away from Amazon.

Bought half a cow from a local farmer.

Started shaving with a metal razor that will outlive me.

At the clinic, the HEARTH has been lit; not as a service, but as ceremony. A space for creators and healers to gather in the ancient rhythm of gift, not transaction.

I no longer believe empathy can be argued into people. But I know it can be lived. I know it can be embodied.

And I believe that’s enough to begin.

This work, this remembrance, doesn’t start with governments. It starts with grocery lists. With choices. With conversations around the table. It starts in our kitchens and our clinics. And then it spreads.

So today, on this “Independence” weekend, I’m not celebrating separation.

I’m honoring sovereignty. The kind that feeds the land, not extracts from it. The kind that speaks with gratitude, not possession. The kind that knows; we belong to each other.

Easy like Sunday morning doesn’t mean passive. It means peaceful. It means powerful in a way that doesn’t need to shout.

This is how the world heals; through deeply embodied devotion, quiet aligned choices and rooted relationships with the Earth and each other.