No Map Back to Nature

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And I felt it deeply: this desire to return to nature, to access real, good food, perhaps it’s just a dream.
Or maybe only a yearning, a quiet longing.
In the heart of the city, perhaps in the very center of nothingness, it seems we no longer dare to be bored.

Then I remembered something I once wrote years ago, while taking a break from cooking on a boat.
In my notebook, I had scribbled:

As our sail filled with scattered memories, the boat began to struggle to hold those within. And suddenly, she cried out, as if shouting to the wind:‘‘ Was it truly <em>you</em> who drifted away from the soil, even as you lived upon it?<br>When joyful grass burst from the concrete, who was it that crushed it — all in the name of rising higher?When did you tear out every tree and decide that grey was a beautiful color?<br>When did you begin lying to each other, claiming you had drunk love to the last drop, when your hearts were still so full?That was your burden, the excess.<br>Even if one day you wished to give, you’re surrounded now by those who can no longer receive.When did you fill your mainsail, with undigested dreams and emotions?<br>With memories that refuse to be absorbed?Why were you never satisfied?<br>You are sinking.<br>There is no space left to take in love,<br>and no courage to give it.If only you hadn’t cast aside each emotion as if it were a mere sprig of parsley. Too simple to matter…<br>Those raw, primal, scorched feelings…<br>What would’ve changed, if you had embraced them from the start?Your bowl is full, but it’s rotting from the bottom up.<br>You know this, don’t you?<br>One day, you’ll be willing to rot in the trash.But when will you return to the soil? ’’Then, she found an orange hat on deck, placed it on its head, held it in place with one hand, and slowly stretched itself out across the damp teak of the boat.Facing the northwesterly wind, she raised its voice and cried out once more:“Land in sight!”

As I read these words again, this old reckoning I once screamed into the sea. I found myself asking the same question, quietly, after yesterday’s short event:

‘‘ Who among us truly has the courage to return to the soil?<br>To leave the city behind? To leave behind the illusion of abundance and listen to the hunger beneath it all? ’’

We did not just walk away from nature, we forgot the shape of the path that led us there. We paved it over with noise and novelty,
with concrete comforts and curated cravings. And now, the forest no longer recognizes our footsteps. The soil, once soft with memory,
feels foreign beneath our feet.

We speak of roots, but our hands tremble when we touch the earth.
We speak of simplicity, yet we run from the stillness where it waits.

We are full, but not nourished. Connected, but not held. Surrounded, but not seen.

There is no map back, only a slow remembering.
A courage to unlearn, to kneel, to listen.

Maybe returning isn’t a single act, but a thousand small surrenders.
A bowl of real food.
A moment of silence.
A barefoot step.
A breath beneath a tree we never planted,
but still offers us shade.

And maybe the road home
isn’t behind us, but beneath us, all along…

Sincerely

Nesrin Eren