The Gift of the Fungi

The Gift of the Fungi

Recently, I enjoyed some vacation time away in the woods—a healing and inspiring environment for me. In the past, I have found myself attracted to the trees, soaking up the rich metaphors of rootedness, seed potential, and strength, as well as their sheer regal being-ness. This time, however, I noticed that I wasn’t connecting with the trees so much. It was the fungi that stopped me in my tracks time and time again. The blue ones in particular--I had never seen blue mushrooms that I could recall. And then there were the yellow ones, the umbrella white ones, the flat, the shelf-like and the head-turning voluptuous orange cascades. What is this about? … I had to wonder.

After a few days of pondering, I pieced together the very little I know about this unusual species with the fact that most of them were growing on old decaying logs and stumps, and I realized the metaphors were a continuation of the insights I had received during a similar retreat time last fall. So, let me back up…

As I went out for a little walk on the first morning of a 3-day personal retreat last October, I noticed the many fallen tree logs lying around and the growing depth of leaves the trees were dropping. I am always moved by the message of letting go, and the falling leaves provide such a vivid reminder. It struck me in that moment that while the trees let go of the leaves, the leaves don’t simply disappear into thin air never to be seen again. Neither does a tree that has died. It takes months—sometimes even years—for them to become unrecognizable as the tree form they were when they died. This taught me that what I was letting go of also didn’t need to disappear overnight. I could slowly shift my focus to new areas and allow that piece of my life to continue on a slow path of decay.

Minutes later, I found a small log to perch on and settled into absorbing the beauty and quiet around me. Immediately, I noticed a sound nearby and instinctively turned my head. I quickly detected where it was coming from on the ground, but couldn’t quite tell what it was. Curiosity got the best of me, and I slowly got closer until I recognized a praying mantis munching on what appeared to be a cricket! I cringed as I identified with the cricket and its demise as breakfast to a praying mantis. I recognized that I was turned off by what I perceived to be a loud and violent meal, not to mention the disturbance to my peaceful moment.

And then the truth of the situation slowly dawned on me. This is simply the cycle of life. As the leaves and logs slowly decay and eventually provide nutrients to the soil and plants, so, too, does the death of the cricket provide nourishment to the praying mantis. Indeed, this is happening around us and in us all the time! How many plants and animals die daily to provide our bodies with nourishment? It’s the cycle of life—simple, natural, and perfect.

So, back to my recent fungi fest: here was the new growth springing up in all its variety and splendor from the decaying matter. I was witnessing life emerging from death. How cool! Mother Nature, in her beautiful way, was reminding me that I don’t need to hold on so tightly. If and when I am willing to let go, there is likely to be something amazing that arises from it.

And what might this have to do with my life or upside-down living, you might wonder? I think I’ll save that for my next entry… giving you a little time to ponder the metaphors and allow fungi to be not only something tasty and nutritious to eat, but also your teacher. I find the insights and messages I receive from nature to be a most precious gift.

upside-down professionalism

Here we are, only a week after the barrage of holiday and New Year festivities, which for most involves a plethora of cookies, chocolate, alcohol, and miscellaneous sugar-laden treats. While I managed to get through the season without receiving a candy cane attached to a card (as a matter of fact, I don’t think I even saw a candy cane this year), I still need to admit: I over-did it. After several weeks of sliding into loose boundaries with my sugar, wheat and dairy intake, my body has been talking to me in ways I don’t enjoy. The digestive woes, stiff joints in the morning, scratchy throat, mildly stuffy sinuses, extra dry skin and facial breakouts are what I’ve come to recognize as warning signs that my eating has gotten out of balance.

There—I said it. I got out of balance and was eating way more food than my body wants or needs, and making poor choices. (If you know me and were holding me up as a nutrition saint, now you know I’m not perfect!) While my close friends and family see me enjoying sugar-laden desserts and over-eating at times, it’s not easy to admit to an audience that includes clients and potential clients. Yet, I find a wonderful freedom in speaking the truth. I know I’m not perfect and I don’t want to hide behind a mask that I am.

It’s interesting to me that even though I teach an approach of moderation and not labeling foods as “good” or “bad,” I still have resistance to admitting that I’ve overdone it with foods I know don’t make me feel well. Perhaps this is strong evidence of how modern culture has moralized food. And perhaps, too, I’ve created a story that if I encourage my clients to be listening to their bodies and minimizing the processed foods that don’t make them feel well, I should be perfect at doing that myself. (Hmmm, there's that should word again, a trusty red flag.) On one hand it seems reasonable—I certainly want to be someone who walks her talk. Yet on the other hand, who is perfect? As a great teacher once said, "Let them cast the first stone."

Where did this expectation come from that someone providing a professional service must be squeaky clean …as though they’ve “arrived” at some state of perfection? I certainly have heaped that expectation on myself time and time again, striving for that perfect state of eating and balance that seems to elude us all. And while I prefer to be tended by professionals who walk their talk, I have also fallen prey to the common practice of putting that expectation on professionals who serve me…and when they occasionally step outside the typical rules around self-disclosure to share their own stories and shortcomings, I breathe a sigh of relief, and feel the tension in my gut and shoulders melt away, as I am reminded of their humanness and imperfections.

Might a more upside-down approach of being real and honest about our experiences as professionals serve our clients in a deeper way? While there’s a fine line here between sharing our experiences appropriately and inappropriately, I think the typical “sage on a stage” approach that focuses on “fixing” the client or the symptom does more harm than good. Personally, I resist and close down when someone fires advice and “shoulds” at me, as though if I just did _____, everything would be fine and dandy. I usually don’t want to go back to see that person, and I hear similar reports from my clients. On the contrary, when they partner with me without judgment, and share their human side, I am less likely to be overly hard on myself, and can move beyond my perceived shortcomings to accomplish what I’m aiming for, to the best of my ability.

Such is the type of support I aim to provide to my clients: heart-centered, real, and authentic, with the central aim of serving and empowering them in their unique process toward greater authenticity and freedom, health and happiness. I am certainly a beginner at this. I’m counting the past several weeks of sugar addiction as a valuable lesson (rather than a moral failure) that provided me with a wake-up call to my own eating issues, gave me a greater understanding for my clients’ struggles, and revealed a motivating contrast to how I’ll feel after a few sugar-free days. Now ... on to the detox!