Mycelial Musings

I continue to witness many people’s lives being turned upside-down in recent months. And while mine hasn’t changed a whole lot from outward appearance, I certainly feel like I’ve been on a never-ending trajectory of internal change and transformation for quite a few years now. As I’ve continued to sit with the “gift of the fungi” (see previous entry), the applications to my life have slowly unfolded . . .

So here I am, 14 months after my first “aha” moment about letting go and the process of decay in the West Virginian woods, and almost 6 months since I was astounded by numerous unique mushrooms in the verdant August woods of upstate New York. Maybe I’m a slow learner that it’s taken this long to gain clarity about why the mushrooms were turning my head. I do know I am a beginner at many things, including seeing the larger picture of my life and integrating the lessons and metaphors that are ever present to teach and guide me. Over these recent months, this fungi metaphor has been simmering within me, and I am harvesting more and more of its application to my life as I learn about the life cycle of mushrooms.

The majority of mushrooms are saprophytic decomposers, which recycle the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen and minerals of dead plants, insects and animals into rich soil. A single fungus can actually kill a large forest, and in so doing, develops deeper soil layers that support the emergence of taller stands of trees. When conditions are right, the microscopic spores that have been released from the gills of a previous mushroom will begin to reproduce by forming interconnected threads (hyphae) that grow and branch, creating a mycelial mat. These mycelium (which look very similar to pictures of brain cell networks, information-sharing systems of the Internet, and computer models of dark matter of the universe) are the source from which mushrooms arise, some sprouting forth, releasing their spores and disintegrating within days, and others lasting for months or years.

This metaphor has been most pertinent for me in terms of my work and business. As I’ve been letting go of my private practice in the form that it was for several years, I’ve noticed that conditions arose to create more connections with others that are supporting the germination of new growth and possibilities for my work. I have a sense that the mycelial mat of my life has been growing in ways I can only glimpse now and then. At the same time, various “mushrooms” have been sprouting forth in the form of upside-down parties, workshops, sound healing events and even cooking winter soups for my neighbors! As different mushrooms sprout up and die quickly while others last for years, so, too, a few of these new ventures will be short-lived and others more enduring.

During this time of change and transition, I’ve experienced my share of discouragement and overwhelm. When something doesn’t take off like I think it will, or the interest (mine or others’) seems to fizzle out as fast as it came, I tend to wonder if I’m wasting my energy. The voices in my head are varied and numerous: Why can’t I seem to get it together and create a “successful” business? What are the offerings that will most serve others, be rewarding work for me, and also help pay the bills? What "should" I focus on?

What the fungi are teaching me is to trust in the Oneness and beauty of the exquisite cycle of life. Perhaps this is simply the time in my life when these various “mushroom projects” are recycling the nutrients from my varied trainings and former practice. As they do so, they are nourishing and preparing the soil of my life for the future “trees” waiting to sprout forth when the conditions are right. How much unnecessary suffering might I avoid if I hold each experience and opportunity as one that is enriching the soil of my life to support the next growth cycle…no matter whether it unfolds perfectly or looks “successful” according to society’s standards? Can I be still in the discomfort of things looking and feeling somewhat upside-down for awhile?

They say what goes up must come down, and perhaps what we lay down intentionally will eventually rise up in new form. In the process of letting go into the deep dark soil of confusion and unknowing over the past several years, I am taking comfort in nature’s promise that the seeds of tall firs, magnificent maples and stately oaks have been resting quietly. In due time, they will sprout forth from the enriched soil of this fungi stage of my life.

Reference:
Mycelium Running, by Paul Stamets, Ten Speed Press, 2005.

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.