We are connected. Always. In a dense network of electrical impulses and luminous screens, we build bridges to the other side of the world. And yet, in this endless swarming of contacts, an ancient and familiar void makes room for itself. It is the paradox that is not named: hyper-communication that generates a new loneliness, sharper and more subtle than that of those who are physically alone.

The question is no longer whether we are in a relationship, but what the quality of that relationship is. Our gestures, once physical and immediate, have migrated to a realm of symbols. A red heart, a thumbs-up, a crying face. These are the new sacraments of sociality, conventional signs that replace the hug, the pat on the shoulder, the complexity of a real gaze. Language itself adapts, contorts, loses thickness to become faster, more efficient, poorer. We believe we are speaking to everyone, and instead we end up speaking to an algorithm, to an interface that sends back a distilled and commercial image of ourselves. The experience of contact, its carnality, is translated into a code. And in this translation, something essential is lost forever.

We delude ourselves into being understood, but the understanding we obtain is merely a reflection of our desires, an echo amplified by the echo chambers we lock ourselves into. Technology, although a neutral tool, ends up indulging our deepest fears: the fear of rejection, of judgment, of direct and unpredictable confrontation with the otherness of the other. We therefore prefer the silent and controllable companionship of the screen. It is an escape from the complexity of presence, an attempt to domesticate the encounter, to render it harmless. But an encounter without risk is an encounter without life, it is a body without nerves, without blood.

We must stop. We must dare to interrupt the flow. Unplugging is not an act of rejecting modernity; it is a necessary gesture to rediscover the meaning of who we are. It is in silence that the desire for a true encounter is rekindled. It is in the absence of notifications that we rediscover the sound of our own inner voice and the call of the other’s voice, unmediated, unfiltered. The void we fear is actually the condition for authentic fullness. Only those who have the courage to inhabit this void, to feel its weight fully, can then open themselves to a relationship that is not a simple exchange of information, but a sharing of existences.

The future of connection does not lie in increasing the number of links, but in their depth. It lies in recovering the slowness of a gesture, the patience of listening, the vulnerability of an emotion expressed not with an icon, but with a trembling voice or a hand placed on a shoulder. It is a challenge that concerns us all, as individuals and as a community. We must ask ourselves if we want to be a forest of trees that only brush against each other with their highest branches, or a common root that, in the darkness of the earth, knows it is one. The choice is between a din of monologues and a dialogue made also of understanding silences. Between a surface-level existence and one of substance. True connection, in the end, does not need to be shown. It is felt. It resonates.

           — ✦ —

🦅 Cheyenne Isa ₿ 🦅

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