The Solarpunk Forest Dialogue
Testament of the Forest
This a spiritual and ecological reflection told through the eyes of two souls who left behind comfort to listen to the Earth. It weaves a personal journey—from hope to heartbreak, from resistance to surrender—as they try to give voice and legal identity to a living forest in Costa Rica.
Set against a world slipping deeper into war, disconnection, and environmental collapse, this testament becomes a sacred offering: part memoir, part prophecy, part prayer.
It asks not how we can save the world—but how we can become the sanctuary the world has forgotten.
This is a story for those who still believe that forests speak, that love endures, and that even in silence, the Earth remembers our names.
Prologue
When the world forgot what it means to be kind, And madness replaced the collective mind, Our souls grew restless, heavy with dread, In a sea of falsehood where truth lay dead.
War raised its face in Europe's land, With shadows gripping every hand. The winds turned cold, the nights grew long, We searched for ways to right the wrong.
But deep within, a fire stirred bright— Love rose up, our sacred light. A beacon burning through despair, To guide our hearts from poisoned air.
As evil fed on all things pure, We lost the bond that could endure. We feared the Earth, we fled her grace, And welcomed ruin in her place.
Then from the dark, a vision shone— A solarpunk dream we called our own. It gleamed like stars on ocean foam, And called our wandering spirits home.
There was a time when trees could speak Above the headlines, sharp and bleak. In Costa Rica, winds would cry Our names like prayers across the sky.
We gave the forest breath and name, Not for power, not for fame, But to let it stand and be, A sovereign soul in our economy.
But steel replaced the leaves' soft hymn, And hopes grew brittle, roots went dim. The Green Deal faded into dust, As silence took the place of trust.
And what remained was not our plan— Not grand success, nor praise from man— But something strange and deeply true: A mark upon the flesh we knew.
A word appeared, not carved but shown, כפר—it bloomed from bone. The village lost, the home we seek, The path to peace, the voice we speak.
