Purple Jellydrops! Sulphur Tufts!

I tromped down through the meadow into the forest, wearing my pajamas and galoshes and carrying a basket of books, phone, and knife, in order to harvest a mushroom. I'd found a log colonized by red-belted conk, fomitopsis pinicola, on the old logging road and I was aiming to make my first mushroom tincture. Red-belted conk has benefits similar to reishi, there's nobody dangerous who is easily mistaken for them, and I sent a photo to a mushroom foragers group to get verification from others. It seemed like a solid place to begin.

Turned out I didn't even need my knife; the easiest way to remove the mushroom was simply to snap it off the log it was calling home. I could see at least five more, so this felt okay. If it had been a solo creature I would have trimmed the outer edge off so it could keep growing.

The forest is so inviting in autumn! With the return of the rains the sheer, verdant vitality of both the trees and the understory is stunning. Sword ferns, salal, cedar, hemlock, doug fir, rhododendron, madrone; all luminous in the glorious sogginess of autumn. Oh, the plushness of the mosses and lichens! They get so crispy in the summer and then spring back in the rain like living velvet. This resilience inspires me. And the fungi! I have never seen as many different kinds of fungi as I see here on this land. I've been reading books and forums and attended a mushroom foraging talk at the library, so after I harvested the mushroom I was sure about, I began poking around to see who else I might meet. I've been curious about this for years after listening to my ever-inspiring friend Rachel rave about hours spent crawling in the forest identifying fungi.

I met some bracket fungus that miiiight be a turkey tail. Definitely met Xylaria hypozylon, who is also called candlesnuff fungus, stag's horn fungus, and carbon antlers. There was an astonishing creature named, I kid you not, someone called purple jellydrops. Someone who is possibly an amethyst deceiver? Someone who might be a poisonous sulfur tuft or might be an edible conifer tuft; the difference is in the gills and I just enjoyed looking at them from above. I'm not looking for food yet; at this point I'm mostly just learning the names of my beautiful neighbors.

When I mentioned this adventure to my neighbor Anna, a brilliant artist whose handmade bat-shaped book about the bats of Washington I raved about recently, she kindly sent me instructions for finding her favorite log, not too far from the neighborhood's bank of mailboxes out by the county road, who is being eaten and transformed into new life by the utterly adorable bird's nest fungus.

Encountering more intimately all of this life that is happening right beneath my feet has enriched my perception of the forest. The life the forest is entwining everywhere. Life and death are inseparable, nourishing one another all around. Perhaps you have heard that trees use mycelial networks to share nutrients with one another? I've heard folks describe this in one sort of anthropomorphic way as if the trees were using the fungi as a tool. I've heard folks describe this in another sort of anthropomorphic way as the fungi farming the trees. Truly, though, this relationship is symbiotic, mutually beneficial; these beings are interdependent. And that is the world I want to live in: one where we do not focus on power-over, but on mutuality.

I'll say more about Margaret Renkl's The Comfort of Crows below; for now I'd like to share her words about mushrooms:

"These are the flowers of the shady forest, the silent scavengers of deadwood and rotting leaves. In living trees, they can form a symbiosis, colonizing roots and helping trees absorb nutrients, creating vast underground networks that allow trees to communicate with one another and even share resources. In dead trees, fungi soften wood, making it hospitable for insects, a place that can be carved out by birds in need of a nesting site, or animals in need of a hiding place or shelter for the cold. Fungi, too, can turn death into life."

This brings me back, as so many things do, to my prayersong, which winds its way into my heart and mind as I sing, day after day after day.

I am loving awareness
I am loving awareness
I am the life of the universe
All is the life of the universe
All of this
is the life of the universe
dancing.

When I think now of the forest, I think of the mycelial networks of the fungi weaving through the soil and the trees and supporting the process of turning each into the other. The life of the universe, dancing.

It's so good to be here, beloved reader, dancing with you through this time in human form. May the mysteries and blessings of the life of the cosmos comfort and inspire us.

Resources

To Love the Wild
I've just finished Margaret Renkl's The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year. The author describes a year in the life of her suburban Nashville yard, where she has lived for 30 years and diligently aims to support the wild world, one week at a time. My mother-in-love gifted me this book, and she is a wonderful role model of someone who supports the wilder world in her yard, so I was grateful to learn more about what inspires her. The book is modeled after the kind of prayer books that give a contemplation for each week of the year. It is filled with beauty, love, and mourning. Her Author's Note says, "I rejoice in what is eternal, even as I force myself to face what is not, to let my heart be broken again and again and again. The very least I owe my wild neighbors is a willingness to witness their struggle, to compensate for their losses in every way I can, and to speak on their behealf about all the ways I can't. It is my dearest hope that you will so the same for your own wild neighbors. Rejoice and grieve. Do your best to help. Bear witnes when you can't. Remember the crows, who tell us that we belong to one another, and to them." Warmest of recommendations. She's got me doubling down on my plan to add a little half-barrel pond here to support my own wilder neighbors.

Clarification
Because the heart of my spiritual teaching is unconditional love, I spend a lot of time talking with folks about boundaries; these things go hand in hand in thoughtful living. I loved Carolyn Hax's concise, outstanding explanation of boundaries in her advice column for the Washington Post, which I am a devoted reader of. Her ethics and compassion are exquisite. In short: boundaries are not for other people; they are for you! Gift link.

The Miracle of Respiration
Last week I had the pleasure of supporting a young athlete with some exploration of respiration. In preparation I hunted up an animation of the breathing body; this 1 minute Art of Breathing video begins by showing the movement of our skeletal structure in respiration and adds layers bit by bit. Life is astonishing.

Delight
This pumpkin custard was a hit at my table over the holiday and earned itself an immediate spot on the annual traditions list. It's quite simple to roast fresh pumpkin and blend it rather than using canned puree if you prefer fresh foods, too

Honor
Christian Parrish Takes the Gun is an Apsáalooke artist and activist who performs musically as Supaman. While I've seen him around and loved his work, I was moved to read the origin story of his way as an Indigenous hip hop artist in my beloved local independent newspaper, The Jefferson County Beacon, after he visited our high school. His Prayer Loop Song is visually and aurally stunning, beginning with drum and flute, then layering in beatboxing, Apsáalooke song, English song, and both the Robot and Native dance in his full regalia. Incredible. I've had his collaboration with Ashley Hall, I Hope You Know in my head for days. I hope it nourishes you as well.

Resistance is Love in Action

Action Support Pods
For two months now I've been sustaining a daily commitment to actions of resistance after an experience in meditation where I sought compassion from my elder self about this time in the world. She both embraced me with great compassion and whispered to me with greatest love, "You have to fight harder."

I instigated a three person text thread where we check in about resistance actions daily, sharing inspiration and accountability. It's incredible to feel how our mutual support keeps encouraging us onward! Daily calls or letters are an easy part of my afternoon routine now. I'm going to make the Food Bank Fundraiser Thai massage workshop I led a few weeks ago a steady seasonal offering next year. One of my companions has joined a patrol at her neighborhood school in Oakland to be lookouts for ICE. We are all experiencing the truth of Joan Baez' wise words, "Action is the antidote to despair."

Does this call to you? Would you like to step up? I'd like to expand my efforts. In my Workshops for Living we've found that three is a good number for social support groups; small enough that the volume of communication is manageable, stronger than a simple pairing. I'd like to seed some new groups. I'm willing to spend December into early January texting with as many people as wish – to be clear, this is a gift. Just reach out to join me.

Inspiration
Rob Brezny's Free Will Astrology column used to come out in the indie newspaper SF Weekly, and I and many, many people adored it for eons. I was delighted to discover this week that Rob is still writing the column, which you can get in your email inbox weekly for free. He has a gift for making astrology a generative and inspirational process. When I checked it out the week of 11/20, his questions were beautiful:

"How do we summon the right blend of practical love and constructive anger?

How do we refrain from hating other people even as we fight fiercely against the hatred and danger they have helped unleash?

How do we cultivate cheerful buoyancy even as we neutralize the bigoted, autocratic poisons that are on the loose?

How can we be both wrathful insurrectionaries and exuberant lovers of life?

How can we stay in a good yet unruly mood as we overthrow the mass hallucinations that are metastasizing?

In the face of the danger, how do we remain intensely dedicated to building beauty and truth and justice and love even as we keep our imaginations wild and hungry and free?

Can our struggle also be a form of play?"

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