December 24-25 2025

Hoildays

Before my birth, my father approached my mother and told her he could no longer bear living in what he saw as a society of the living dead, a world draining its people of their life force while they chased false gods and empty pursuits. It was then that he shared his plan. As soon as I could carry my own weight, my mother, my older brother, and I would leave the modern world behind and homestead in the Bob Marshall Wilderness in Montana. His intention was to step away from the rat race and the web of falsehoods that steals time, energy, and purpose in service to hollow ambitions.

On November 3rd, 1978, I was born. Shortly after, my father remembered words spoken by my grandfather during one of their final days together. He had told my father that a son would one day be born, and that on the first full moon in January following that birth, known as the Moon of Purification, my father was to return with his child to a place of good medicine. It was a place filled with memories of learning the ancient ways, countless days spent wandering the pines, listening, observing, and uncovering the quiet mysteries of the land.

Late one night in January, my father bundled me up at just three months old, despite my mother’s deep concern. We climbed into his old station wagon and drove back to the place my grandfather had spoken of. Many years later, I asked my father if he had known what awaited us there. His face went pale, and he said quietly, never in a million years, son.

He had been excited to return to a place he had not seen in many years. What he found instead would alter the course of his life and, in time, the lives of countless others. What had once been a sanctuary so pure you could swim and drink from the same waters, a haven for wildlife and a sacred place known only to a few, had been destroyed.

The land had become an illegal dumping ground, poisoned by garbage and chemicals, with trash stretching as far as the eye could see. My father, overwhelmed and blinded by tears, stumbled through the wreckage until he found what he believed to be the center of the old camp. There, following my grandfather’s instruction, he laid me down on a pile of refuse.

That night marked one of the most profound moments of my father’s life. In the ruin of that once sacred place, he understood that there was no longer room for dreams alone. It was time to live a vision, so that no one else would ever have to witness such devastation without hope.

In this special episode, I will share stories from my youth, intimate writings exchanged between my mother and father before my birth, and reflections on how we might turn the page on what has become the opposite of everything my father devoted his life to.

The fourty-seventh anniversary of that night falls on Saturday, January 3rd. In recognition of this, I will be hosting my weekly live stream that evening instead of Sunday, beginning at 7 PM Central to allow as many people as possible to attend. I will also be expanding my live streaming with a preshow on Tuesday at 6 PM Central, broadcast through YouTube Live and the Trackolytes Facebook group.

I will be sharing New Year’s intentions and offering clear insights into how I intend to continue a journey that began forty seven years ago.

Happy holidays, my friend and family,

T3