The path is the journey.
And willingness to sit and ponder what you find along the way.
Welcome, I'm Savannah.
This is where I write about whatever I discover on my journey through this human experience. From Shakespeare to shadow work, mycelium and AI, and everything in between.
Exploring the vast expanse within and without.
I also run Pathwright Partners, where I help small businesses find their way.
Some questions are better held together.
Beyond writing, I also create spaces for shared conversations and community with other humans on this journey.
See what's gathering →What's been with me.
- A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis
- how it feels to live an embodied experience
- Wonderful Nothing by Glass Animals
- lots of iced coffee with rosemary syrup
- the slow turn of spring to summer
- the infinite interconnectedness of life
The forest.
Wander through quotes, books, ideas, and words that have taken root in my world.
“You can be both soft and intense. Both traditional and rebellious. Both vulnerable and strong. There is possibility inside of paradox.”
Stigmergy
Coordination doesn't require communication between agents — only interaction through a shared, modifiable environment. Actions leave traces that guide future actions, producing emergent complex structures without central planning or explicit agreement.
atelic — You play because you enjoy it. Telic = you play only to obtain reward. Reward fixation turns leisure into drudgery.
A Gentleman in Moscow
They can take away your house. They can take away your rooms. They can't take away who you are.
Feeling the Mystery
Reflections on My Meditation Retreat Experience Taken at the retreat center, in a bamboo grove on the property Last month I attended an “Awakening Through the Body” meditation retreat hosted by Dharma Gates in West Virginia. In complete honesty, I had no idea what I was signing up for. I’ve learned to follow my...
Sing
Sing of the shattering—
the shadowed abyss of despair.
Sing of endless hungry nights
snatching soul-deep. Sing
of the chasm where
hope once lived,
The Thing that Is (and Perhaps Is Not)
My muse isn't the
meandering mist
over mountain streams;
bright on a sharp morning.
My muse isn't the