Fire on Mountain. The wanderer who leaves civilization entirely sees patterns the embedded cannot. From total exile, he predicted our 2025 exactly: oversocialization creating cancel culture, technology removing the power process (autonomous goal-setting) leaving surrogate activities, algorithmic control, inability to opt-out, biological manipulation debates. All written from a cabin in 1995. The wanderer's position—outside, isolated, unreachable—enabled clarity. But Line six warns: "The bird's nest burns up. The wanderer laughs at first, then must weep and wail." Recklessness from isolation ends catastrophically. Three dead, twenty-three injured, eighteen years of bombings. Right diagnosis, monstrous treatment. The practical question: can you achieve the wanderer's clarity without the catastrophe? Temporary exile works. The programmer who goes off-grid yearly. The executive doing digital detoxes. The academic maintaining one foot outside their discipline. You see less than complete exile, but you don't end up as an FBI sketch. The hexagram is honest: real clarity requires real distance. The further you withdraw, the more you see—and risk. Success through smallness, the text says. Not manifestos or bombings. Small, precise movements at the boundary. See what you can see, say what you can say, then come back. Fire moves to new fuel; it doesn't burn the mountain down. The tension: enough distance to see, enough connection to remain human. Thirty years later, we're living in the world he predicted—that proves the clarity. The bombing campaign proves exile alone doesn't grant wisdom. You need the clarity without the catastrophe, the outside perspective without complete severance. That's harder, but it's the only version that doesn't end in pursuit.