Are you reading Paul Kingsnorth's Abbey of Misrule substack? There is a fascinating overlap between your thought and his. Consider this, from Kingsnorth's latest:
"Imagine you are writing, with a pen, in the evening by a fire. Imagine the light of the fire. It moves in patterns across the ceiling. Perhaps it dances, perhaps it has something to tell you. Imagine the flow of ink onto page. You used to write teenage love letters like this. It’s a mess, like your heart. Every line is different, every letter. It is slow. Your wrist hurts. Can you scrub out that embarrassing sentence, or will she make it out? Do you need to start again?"