Dear ones,
Those of you who spend time on Substack will likely have seen my note, Fungi Friday, which serves as a weekly invitation to share photos of species that you’ve recently spotted. If so, I probably don’t need to tell you how enamoured I am with these magical and mysterious organisms.
Early yesterday evening, despite feeling incredibly exhausted and increasingly pre-menstrual, I attended a live call during which Sophie Strand and Merlin Sheldrake spent an hour following myriad threads of thought about all things mycorrhizal.
As expected, their conversation was endlessly inspiring and expansive. In fact, it sent me down a few rabbit holes before eventually bringing me back to my own memoir for the first time since the beginning of September.
When I opened up the fourth chapter – Grey Matter – I was immediately struck by how raw the subject matter was. It’s been two years since I finished the first draft of said chapter and the truth is I feel I’ve lost something of myself between then and now.
The version of me who wrote it was almost entirely fearless in comparison to the woman I am today – she wrote the full spectrum of her emotions so honestly and shared her sensuality without any trace of shame; she didn’t feel the need to soften what was undeniably sharp, and she didn’t waste too much time deliberating before making decisions.
She was also wilfully naïve in a way that I no longer am. There was a dream she was so determined to realise that she just couldn’t – or wouldn’t – let it die. She spent so many of her most precious resources attempting to resuscitate that dream, the fight for its life leaving her perpetually depleted and disappointed.
Two years later, I’ve finally laid it to rest and I have the magic of mycelium to thank for that. The species laced with psilocybin may have facilitated the initial shifts but these miniscule, yet mighty lifeforms continue to inspire and influence me daily.
I have adopted a mycelial state of mind in many ways.
I no longer view death as final, for fungi possess the alchemical function to break down our bodies so that they can fuel the emergence of new life. Until that time comes for me, I intend to attune more closely to the ways of being that allow fungi to thrive: embracing an attitude of collaboration over one of competition, rooting into the knowing that much of what matters most cannot be seen or explained and of course remembering – as often as I possibly can – that the health of the planet and the health of the self are inextricably intertwined. For the latter will not last if we do not learn to prioritise the former.
For the first time in a long time, I’d like to finish this evening’s letter with some words from my memoir. These are taken from the chapter mentioned above, originally written as I mourned the loss of what I had been desperate to believe was possible.
They were later expanded with a depth of understanding that delivered a little something I know many of us are needing most of all during this most distressing and non-sensical of times: hope. Despite the horrors and atrocities that humankind continue to inflict upon one another I’m finding some comfort in the way Merlin Sheldrake describes the mycelium in his wonderful book Entangled Life, as the ‘living seam by which much of the world is stitched into relation.’
It is another grey morning, but still the journey is as beautiful as the destination. As we drive down the road I am awestruck by the sight of a forest on fire: the flaming ombre of autumn’s final leaves turns the trees into a row of lit matches against the leaden sky.
We wander around the woods, spotting many more species of fungi in the hour we spend there. Once again, it gets me thinking about the relationship between the mycelium and the other living organisms that surround us. These tiny thread-like structures have their own innate intelligence, they are microscopic magicians: reanimating life anew from the noxious decay of death. Right now, their fruits are easily found but even after their gone the roots will remain, working in harmony, communicating and exchanging nutrients with surrounding trees and plants so that the entire ecosystem can thrive. Of course, much of this process is imperceptible to us, and mycologists are yet to find a definitive reason why fungi choose to share the fuel they have obtained from the digestion of organic matter instead of storing it away for themselves.
Studies have shown that the effects of psilocybin on the brain are somewhat synergistic too: magic mushrooms have a blunting effect on the prefrontal cortex, an area located in the grey matter that is responsible for our higher thinking, reasoning, and self-identification. With this area ‘offline’ we have an opportunity to experience the intimacy of being wholly present with our emotions as they arise without the interruption of logical thought. Neuroscientists have said that psilocybin may even have the power to rebalance the brain after discovering that it induces rapid and persistent growth of neural connections. The experiences I have had so far echo these claims, the inner workings of my mind are radically shifting already.
Here in the forest, surrounded by a multitude of thriving fungal life, my situation with my ex suddenly makes perfect sense. Like so many of these species, we have spent much of our lives existing as a single organism. He needed more than I did and offering him what I had made things easier, at least to begin with. What I didn’t know was that I would be left with a deficit, that my turn to be taken care of would never come. Not every fungus is mutualistic, nor is every human, at least not all the time. Even now, we are so closely entangled that I cannot extricate his root system from my own. But with deft fingers, a lot of patience and eventually a little distance I suspect things will start to become clearer.
I believe a healthy human relationship should reflect the symbiosis between fungi and plant. When people come together for the right reasons, they are naturally able to nurture something new. There is a sense of reciprocity: both generosity and appreciation are presented by each party in equal measure. Over time, through their shared reverence and care for one another they’ll come to find that together they are far more than the sum of their parts. A love like that still feels like a lifetime away, but I have faith that if I keep stretching out in search of connection, one day it’ll be within my reach.
As November reaches its peak, winter begins to whisper sweet nothing’s in my ear everywhere I go. She softly coaxes the trees so that they might shed the lone leaves that are still clinging to life. She swallows up another hour of daylight so that we might be willing to rest a while longer. Knowing that her arrival is imminent leads to another epiphany: that our humanity is not a riddle we must solve, but rather something to unravel into. I realise that there is no part of me that I need to run away or hide from. That despite any ‘evidence’ my mind has to the contrary I am not broken. If this book were only to detail a dozen psychedelic peaks, then it would’ve entirely missed the point. There can be no peaks in life without the valleys. And for the first time ever I am ready to exist unapologetically, whichever part of the terrain I’m journeying through.
Wishing you a beautiful weekend. May you find the space to embrace your humanity and the contradictions and complexities that come with it wholly and completely. For it is this very act that enables us to do the same for others.
With Love,
Laura x
Oh Laura I needed to read this today - thank you for sharing. There is so much to discover here, and I am so moved by it. I am in the thick of trying to untangle my roots from the roots of my ex and some days it's challenging to even know what's mine, and what's not. The connections you've drawn between human relationships and the shifting growth of the forest fungi is so intriguing and potent. Thank you.
I love the parallel that you draw between nature and human relationships. This is so beautiful, the words so potent yet soft. I feel like every time I read it there’s another layer of truth to uncover.