life/acc
The soul is for feeling what the mind is for thought.
The world we currently inhabit is, by almost any measure, pretty fucked. Everywhere you look—ecology, economy, politics, society—it’s a mess. And yet, here today, I’m going to make the case that it’s actually not that complicated. In fact, the problems we face are pretty easy to solve.
300,000 years of being human are stronger than 300 years of industrial distraction.
Deep down, you already know what’s right and what’s wrong, how to be, what to do, and what to walk away from. It becomes clear the moment you find the courage to peel back the layers of societal expectation—and dare to look behind the veils of your own fear.
Many summers ago, I started a quiet, secret book project. I invited a small group of people to contribute their wishes and dreams for a good future. The book existed only in print, and only the co-authors ever held it in their hands. It was meant to be a safe space—a place where the most outrageous, wildly hopeful, and heartbreakingly beautiful dreams of an intact world could be spoken out loud, without fear.
After a few iterations, I found myself increasingly frustrated by my own inability to put into words what my feelings were already showing me so clearly. So, I set out to change that—to give myself the tools to express what I knew, but couldn’t yet articulate. The crutch I needed emerged as a set of questions—simple, but comprehensive enough to cover everything we humans do. They offered just enough overlap to ensure I wouldn’t miss the essential parts of the human experience. And with them, I finally had a way to translate feeling into language.
Once I had written my own version of a good life into a book, the curiosity didn’t stop. I wanted to understand how others dreamed about a good world. So, I turned those questions into a serious game—one that invited reflection, imagination, and deep conversation. Over time, we played it with hundreds of people from all over the planet, each bringing their own visions, hopes, and wisdom into the space.
We were astonished by how similar the dreams turned out to be. The game revealed something beautifully universal and profoundly human. It showed us that, beyond the environmental constraints and circumstances of our individual lives, we are far more alike than we often dare to hope—or admit. Beneath all the differences, there’s a shared longing for a world rooted in connection, meaning, and care. And above all, balance with nature and community.
Crutches are Crutches
As a human being, you know how you want to be treated. And you know, deep down, that it’s far more likely you’ll be treated that way if you treat others the same. It’s simple, really—reciprocity isn’t an idea, it’s who we are.
But of course, life is usually more complex than that. So we start lifting this deep, felt sense—this knowing—into the conscious mind, shaping it into concepts. We weave those concepts into stories, to better carry them across time and space, to share and make sense of them together. And then—often before we even realize it—we’ve given birth to an ideology. What once was simple and alive becomes fixed and structured.
These crutches often come with a rich ecology of practices meant to nurture and sustain that deep knowing. But more often than not, the story becomes stronger than the truth it was meant to carry—and we get distracted. We start serving the story, rather than the living reality underneath it.
A central part of the art of life—and of being human—is finding the balance between the shared story and the truth we personally experience. None of this can be taught, and often it can’t even be articulated. It can only be felt. The crutches—the stories, the practices, the concepts—are there to support us as we learn to stand in that space with confidence. And then, when we’re ready, to let them go.
And then, we can help each other stand tall.
Central bank of dreams
Two decades ago, Bernard Lietaer—who had just overseen the introduction of the Euro and had previously directed the Central Bank of Belgium—mentored me on the deeper intricacies of currency systems. He often shared a story about Ghent, a city that at the time was struggling with seemingly intractable issues: illegal immigration, substance abuse, violence, and an overwhelming sense of desolation. It was a place caught in a downward spiral, with no clear way out.
Bernard engaged directly with the local community, asking a simple but profound question: what do you truly long for? Many of them spoke about wanting land—somewhere to grow food and flowers, a space for regeneration and connection. In response, he helped facilitate access to an unused plot of land and introduced a complementary currency system. People could earn this currency by contributing to the well-being of their community: acts of kindness, cleaning the streets, planting flowers in windows, painting houses. Small, tangible actions that made the city feel alive again.
Remarkably, both the environment and the people transformed with surprising speed. What had once felt hopeless began to thrive. Inspired by this small but profound success, Bernard conceived a vision far greater in scope—one that took me years to fully understand, and only came into focus through the lens of the heliogenic civilization. He wanted to create a central bank of dreams. A place where the currency wasn’t debt or extraction, but hope, purpose, and collective possibility.
In Bernard’s global vision, every person would declare their dream—and that dream would back their own unique currency. As others contributed to making someone’s dream a reality, that person could issue more currency, circulating value rooted in purpose and reciprocity. In a world of 10 billion distinct currencies, simple transactions—like buying a loaf of bread—wouldn’t be so simple anymore. And that was exactly the point. It wasn’t about convenience; it was about relationship. In such a world, the gift economy naturally endures, because connection, trust, and shared purpose become the true currency.
Dreams require Atoms
I didn’t buy Bernard’s dream of dreams. I couldn’t. As beautiful and inspiring as it was, it completely overlooked the biophysical reality of the world—the material layer that underpins everything. Without grounding in the living systems and physical foundations that make thriving life possible, the dream felt incomplete. A vision without roots.
But many insights later, I realized something important. If I have eyes, teeth, bones, and run on electricity—if my very existence is made of countless natural miracles—then there’s no material I can imagine needing in my life that can’t, in some way, be grown. Life has already solved this. Everything we truly need can emerge from living systems, in harmony with them. It was a simple truth, hiding in plain sight.
As we began to engage deeply with both Indigenous wisdom and cutting-edge material science, we discovered something profound: all of the necessary ingredients for a world of mutually assured thriving, grounded in natural processes without extraction or waste, already exist. Some have been known and practiced for millennia, carried in the traditions of those who never forgot how to live in balance with the Earth. Others are only now becoming possible, emerging from the research labs on the frontier of science. But together, they form a complete picture.
The future we’re all dreaming of isn’t a fantasy—it’s already here, waiting to be woven together. Woven in bioregional contexts that honor, build upon, and integrate local culture and nature. This is the MIRACLE we need. And this is the MIRACLE we create.