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.