I picture the mountain. I picture a forest alive, every root networked, everybody teaching and listening simultaneously. This is the shape of collective learning: a mycelial pedagogy. Here, wisdom is not handed down but grown sideways. In this moment of crumbling institutions, perhaps the classroom is everywhere we gather — a kitchen, a care home, a textile stretched across hands, a community radio station tuned to the frequencies of grief and hope. These are our new schools, built on the ruins of old hierarchies.
