The Sieve Year - Field Notes
Every long cycle has its sifting year, the one where everything that cannot hold its shape falls softly through. We don’t always see it coming. We only notice the sound, the fine rain of old forms loosening their grip, the hush that follows.
2025 has felt like that: a sieve year. A refining time. The visible world has been busy repairing pipes, repainting corridors, reissuing records; but underneath, something else is occurring. A subtle filtration of meaning. What remains isn’t what’s newest, or loudest, but what’s truest. What can breathe.
In a sieve year, we learn to love what passes through our fingers. We stop clinging to the dust of what used to be solid. The task is simple, though not easy: to stay porous. To let the air move through you without losing our outline.
This isn’t collapse; it’s calibration. The sieve doesn’t destroy, it clarifies. The work is to keep listening, even as the noise thins out. To notice which grains of gold remain in our palm after everything else has gone to light.
We’re not losing form. We’re finding the pattern beneath it.
[image: Claude Monet, Les Peupliers au bord de l'Epte, 1891]
Contact Us | Maps & Readings | Sessions | On Being a Polymath | Entries | Who I Am
hare-offsite/?url=" style="color: #dddddd; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">LinkedIn | WhatsApp | Bluesky | Mastodon