· 6 min read
So what’s growing in the compost? These texts explore the cracks in our dominant systems. They name patterns we may need to leave behind, and sometimes point to the possibilities taking root beneath. I’ve written about collapse, false urgencies, and composting old paradigms. This piece follows that thread—and turns toward a current no longer on the fringe, one that may shape what comes next.
A few days ago, in conversation with a close friend, I mentioned the body of work and inquiry that’s been shaping me for the better part of a decade. Groups like Dark Mountain, Deep Adaptation, the folks at CEMUS in Uppsala, or Skavet. Gatherings like Climate Existence in Sigtuna, or Bioneers. Voices like Tyson Yunkaporta, Charles Eisenstein, Nora Bateson, Dougald Hine, Vanessa Andreotti, Nate Hagens, Bayo Akomolafe, and others. Far from a homogenous group, it’s not a school or a manifesto, but a shared orientation. It’s a way of looking at what’s happening, beginning with the realization that "sometimes, you are born into the ending of a world". It’s an approach that turns not to solutions first, but to relationship, to entanglement, to what we don’t know.
Her response was sharp: “I don’t see signs that these ‘alternative’ intellectuals are on the cusp of anything universal. It feels like just another way of recruiting followers into one particular worldview. What makes you so sure this approach will fare any better?”
It’s a fair question. And one I’ve heard in different forms before, from skeptics, colleagues, even from that quieter voice in myself that still wants to be careful, and to not be naïve.
But here’s what I believe:
This movement, this tapestry of collapse-aware, non-anthropocentric, post-20th century thinking, is no longer marginal. It may not dominate headlines. It may not yet set policy. It’s not (yet) on stage at the prestigious gatherings in Davos, Aspen, Alpbach or Aix-en-Provence. But the shift is already underway. What was fringe ten years ago is now present in academic seminars, in cultural discourse, in the pages of leading publications, in leadership retreats and community design labs. Increasingly, it’s also in the language of funders, in the governance of co-ops, in doctoral theses, in impact startups, and intentional communities. The books feature prominently in the best bookshops. It is beginning to inflect the mood in quite a few places (Sweden, where I live, is unfortunately a gaping exception).
What once stayed hidden in the undergrowth is now making its way into think tanks, foundations, even business schools and university departments. And perhaps more tellingly, it’s showing up in the questions people are asking (not least the young) when the old answers stop working.
Take degrowth, for instance (or post-growth, or wellbeing economy - there are many names). A decade ago, these ideas lived mostly in the writings of some utopian futurists or buried deep in policy documents of fringe green parties. Now, they’re the focus of conferences hosted by the European Parliament, there are full master's programs built around them, and some of the “stars” of the movement are hailed by thousands at public events and forums.
Or take the growing influence of Indigenous knowledge systems, not as some romantic notion, but as a living reminder that other ways of knowing and being have long existed, that the planet’s gifts aren’t just there for the taking, and life is not just a resource to manage. Wisdom can be embodied, ecological, and ancestral all at once. These insights are now entering design studios, legal debates, community assemblies, and spiritual retreats. And they are pushing the boundaries of mainstream thinking.
So no, this isn’t a unified group, it isn’t branded. It doesn’t arrive with a single vocabulary or agenda. In fact, much of it resists simplification. Its language is sometimes challenging, full of poetry and paradox. That’s exactly the point, it doesn’t claim to be the one right way, the easy impact-seeking mechanism. It’s more mycelium than movement. And that’s where its strength lies.
Because the systems we’ve inherited and that have brought us here, were built on mastery, certainty, and control. They are now unraveling. What we need is something else entirely. And I believe the seeds of that something else are here, in this messy undergrowth, in this cosmology, in this slowly coalescing body of thought and practice.
I’m not saying it’s complete. I’m not saying it has all the answers. But I no longer see it as marginal. I see it as foundational, as the early architecture of the next mainstream. And no, I can’t prove that it will work “better.” I actually think that’s the wrong question, because “better” still assumes we’re comparing strategies within a shared game, measured by impact, efficiency, or scale. But this isn’t about outperforming old models, it’s about stepping out of them altogether. About shifting the frame. What I do know is that it speaks more honestly to the moment we are in than anything else I’ve found. It doesn’t flinch from our predicament. It doesn’t rush to rescue. It doesn’t provide quick fixes. It doesn’t dress up the old logic in greener clothes. It begins with grief and with uncertainty, ridded of hubris and anthropocentricity. From there, it fills with active hope, and reaches toward what might still be possible.
Sometimes, I long for a great big map. Imagine a wall covered with a rough, sprawling chart of the entire sustainability discourse. A “crude look at the whole,” as Murray Gell Mann, founder of the Santa Fe Institute, used to call such things. An overview that shows all the different people, groups, movements, and institutions working on paths forward. You’d see the UN and the SDGs, the climate scientists and scenario modelers, the planetary boundaries and donut economy crews, the circular economy advocates and post-growth economists. You find the architects of green bonds, ESG frameworks and corporate sustainability reporting, the tech-for-good startups, the regenerative farmers, permaculture educators, and water protectors. The blockchain-for-climate pioneers, the activists pushing for ecocide law, the climate justice proponents. You’d see concepts like bioregionalism, nature-based solutions, and rewilding. And maybe even the more radical activists of Extinction Rebellion or Deep Green Resistance.
And somewhere on that map, near the edge, or spreading underground, you’d find this orientation I’ve been writing about, this undergrowth current that doesn’t really have a name. A quiet but growing thread of relational, grief-informed inquiry, one that values listening over certainty, collaboration over control, and asks different questions entirely. Less interested in solving, more concerned with sensing. It's not a centralized campaign with clear leaders and slogans, but rather a distributed network of thinking that's emerging across different countries, fields and communities. This very quality might actually be its strength rather than a weakness.
And maybe that’s enough for now. Not a map with fixed coordinates, but a direction of travel. A shift in posture. A widening of the field. To me, this feels far more promising than new manifestos, or various global governance blueprints. What matters now is to keep tending the places where something else may quietly be taking root.
This article is also published on Substack. illuminem Voices is a democratic space presenting the thoughts and opinions of leading Sustainability & Energy writers, their opinions do not necessarily represent those of illuminem.
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