Sagittarius Full Moon: Stumbling into Humility with Mycelium
Full Moon of Stumbling into Humility
in 15°33' Sagittarius
in 15°33' Sagittarius
1:10 pm MST / 3:10pm EST
Happy Full Moon and Penumbral Lunar Eclipse in zodiacal Sagittarius. We are stumbling into humility.
As this time is laminated with layers of unease, I hope you are grounding into your intuitive sense of belonging, nourishment, and soul-fullness.
As I write in observance for this Full Moon, much of our collective structure is crumbling, many of our personal realities are in question, and the story of our civilization is unraveling.
The reason I write what I've so far called "mycoastrology" is because it is an attempt to integrate the celestial with the terrestrial -- to kindle a cosmology based in the animate and multiplicitous consciousness that we exist enveloped within. The stories we've told ourselves tend to insist that they be told from the outside. Whether it be stories that neglect the perspectives of endangered animals, the cryptic fungi, or the lives of other people, our narratives predominantly exist oblivious to our cyclical and spherical interrelationships.
Fungus: Mycelium
Happy Full Moon and Penumbral Lunar Eclipse in zodiacal Sagittarius. We are stumbling into humility.
As this time is laminated with layers of unease, I hope you are grounding into your intuitive sense of belonging, nourishment, and soul-fullness.
As I write in observance for this Full Moon, much of our collective structure is crumbling, many of our personal realities are in question, and the story of our civilization is unraveling.
The reason I write what I've so far called "mycoastrology" is because it is an attempt to integrate the celestial with the terrestrial -- to kindle a cosmology based in the animate and multiplicitous consciousness that we exist enveloped within. The stories we've told ourselves tend to insist that they be told from the outside. Whether it be stories that neglect the perspectives of endangered animals, the cryptic fungi, or the lives of other people, our narratives predominantly exist oblivious to our cyclical and spherical interrelationships.
In our culture, we have this sense that if you cannot see something then it does not exist. We speak of air as though it were empty -- empty space, which is odd, because it is thick with spores, smells, temperature, wind, flavor, humidity, microbes, chemicals, and molecules. We speak of ground as though it were empty -- solid, dark, and silent, how could anything ever live inside? What could possibly be enwombed or birthed by such shadowed terrain?
We speak to one another as though we are empty -- commanding objectives, perspectives, opinions, and experiences onto others, thereby flattening the diverse otherness of embodied experience via a curtain of intolerance. We have become very good at intolerance.
Many of us are starting to see how the fungi are medicine of presence. Not one of absence. As interbeings, fungi live incredibly complex lives, prospering as metabolic wizards -- exploring, salvaging, and transforming. More and more, we are seeing that they are the ones largely accountable for how quickly a given environment can respond to change.
Through fungal mycelium, the network of individual strands of perceiving hyphae, humans are beginning to tally up scientific observations that are altering not only the way we imagine forests and ecosystems, but the way we have relied upon our preconceptions. What we've recently learned of fungi has given science a permission to be, at least momentarily, awed.
We speak to one another as though we are empty -- commanding objectives, perspectives, opinions, and experiences onto others, thereby flattening the diverse otherness of embodied experience via a curtain of intolerance. We have become very good at intolerance.
Many of us are starting to see how the fungi are medicine of presence. Not one of absence. As interbeings, fungi live incredibly complex lives, prospering as metabolic wizards -- exploring, salvaging, and transforming. More and more, we are seeing that they are the ones largely accountable for how quickly a given environment can respond to change.
Through fungal mycelium, the network of individual strands of perceiving hyphae, humans are beginning to tally up scientific observations that are altering not only the way we imagine forests and ecosystems, but the way we have relied upon our preconceptions. What we've recently learned of fungi has given science a permission to be, at least momentarily, awed.
We are seeing that some chemical properties of plants might actually be thanks to the mycelium growing inside of the plant, or more possibly a result of the symbiosis of experience contained between the mycelium, plant, and microbes existing together. If you can picture how deep a tree's root goes, just imagine that this depth is expanded 10-1,000 fold by the mycelial network that transports and unlocks nutrients like phosphorus, nitrogen as well as cytoplasm, genetic information, and antibiotics. Oh, did you not learn this in school?
More than anything, I think fungi are curiously offering us a terrain that clues us into how to embody our own fruiting bodies in a place of spaciousness. As they are continually presenting newness to our human perspective, we meet the fungi in this place of inquiry -- we question our understanding. "Oh." "Wow!" "Is this true?" Somehow, fungi are inviting us to transform our perceptions of science, place, education, medicine, healing, community, and beingness.
Sometimes, when meeting something new, or something different than us, we may think "I just don't get what they're doing", "I cannot fathom you," or "I cannot put you in my narrative". Consequently, this narrative becomes, "I don't know who you are." And so, "I don't know who I am". We can grasp and seize and deny and fight our sense of self in a probe to piece together a self definition that is sufficient to absorb this new being. All of these postures are an attempt to protect your sense of self.
With humility, we can receive this new being as a sense of awe and wonder, rather than an attack or destabilization, for there is nothing secure to debunk. With humility, we let go of our sense of separateness on this earth. We lose our obsession with the assuredness of things. By centering the fungi, it is much easier for many of us to hear that the earth is a place of change, inquiry, and spaciousness, and that we are not detached from these qualities.
The fungi, I believe, are the keystone species, as it were, to this place of humility. The receptive wonder that exists in the presence when coming face to face with something that is not you. Not in the absence. Fungi are surely transforming our understanding of science and are absolutely also speaking to our collective ecosystems, the entanglements of life that humans do not dwell outside of.
In this moment of presence, when you come face to face with another, rather than hiding, hating, or fearing, how do you befriend this moment in awe? Humility is what precipitates the absorbtion of the other.
There has become this constant assumption that thrives in our contemporary, civilized, human perspective, which is a willful blindness or deafness to anything that a) doesn't talk, and b) doesn't speak what we perceive as our own language. It is as though this intolerance for other people and their embodied experience rides on the surface of larger waves of the human intolerance towards non-human beings.
David Abram, one of my most favorite writers and speakers, says in Spell of the Sensuous that "magic is the experience of existing in a world made up of multiple intelligences". Abram remarks that maybe consciousness isn't even ours to begin with, but that perhaps, consciousness is earth's. Who am I to be intolerable?
Every form one perceives is an experiencing form. It it no surprise that it is fungi who are responsible for the overwhelming majority of this earth's transformative and connective processes, and who are also among the earth's most overlooked beings to our human-centered perspective. The lens of the fungi can help us see earth and each other as a source of creative and embodied inquiry, as opposed to a stagnant, intolerable prescription.
This practice of "MycoAstrology" describes the current quality of our beingness, as perhaps a different way of "keeping" time, one that centers the animacy and plurality of our beingness. There is, indeed, a narrative that binds these two seemingly disparate places -- the cosmos and the fungi.
Stories, along with what media and entertainment and culture we engage in, hold our attention and give us tools for navigating our terrain. Words and images can change hearts, minds, and even the course of history. Since the dawn of human memory, fungi have been by our side, as perhaps a sort of cosmic trickster, reminding us of our capacity for inquiry and humility.
In the spirit of Full Moon in Sagittarius, we release cycles of self-righteousness, scarcity, and rigid opinions that keep us separated from others. We have the opportunity to look at the philosophical high horses we rode in on and why this ideology or reasoning or logic or perspective is keeping us in a place of intolerance for others.
More than anything, I think fungi are curiously offering us a terrain that clues us into how to embody our own fruiting bodies in a place of spaciousness. As they are continually presenting newness to our human perspective, we meet the fungi in this place of inquiry -- we question our understanding. "Oh." "Wow!" "Is this true?" Somehow, fungi are inviting us to transform our perceptions of science, place, education, medicine, healing, community, and beingness.
Sometimes, when meeting something new, or something different than us, we may think "I just don't get what they're doing", "I cannot fathom you," or "I cannot put you in my narrative". Consequently, this narrative becomes, "I don't know who you are." And so, "I don't know who I am". We can grasp and seize and deny and fight our sense of self in a probe to piece together a self definition that is sufficient to absorb this new being. All of these postures are an attempt to protect your sense of self.
With humility, we can receive this new being as a sense of awe and wonder, rather than an attack or destabilization, for there is nothing secure to debunk. With humility, we let go of our sense of separateness on this earth. We lose our obsession with the assuredness of things. By centering the fungi, it is much easier for many of us to hear that the earth is a place of change, inquiry, and spaciousness, and that we are not detached from these qualities.
The fungi, I believe, are the keystone species, as it were, to this place of humility. The receptive wonder that exists in the presence when coming face to face with something that is not you. Not in the absence. Fungi are surely transforming our understanding of science and are absolutely also speaking to our collective ecosystems, the entanglements of life that humans do not dwell outside of.
In this moment of presence, when you come face to face with another, rather than hiding, hating, or fearing, how do you befriend this moment in awe? Humility is what precipitates the absorbtion of the other.
There has become this constant assumption that thrives in our contemporary, civilized, human perspective, which is a willful blindness or deafness to anything that a) doesn't talk, and b) doesn't speak what we perceive as our own language. It is as though this intolerance for other people and their embodied experience rides on the surface of larger waves of the human intolerance towards non-human beings.
David Abram, one of my most favorite writers and speakers, says in Spell of the Sensuous that "magic is the experience of existing in a world made up of multiple intelligences". Abram remarks that maybe consciousness isn't even ours to begin with, but that perhaps, consciousness is earth's. Who am I to be intolerable?
Every form one perceives is an experiencing form. It it no surprise that it is fungi who are responsible for the overwhelming majority of this earth's transformative and connective processes, and who are also among the earth's most overlooked beings to our human-centered perspective. The lens of the fungi can help us see earth and each other as a source of creative and embodied inquiry, as opposed to a stagnant, intolerable prescription.
This practice of "MycoAstrology" describes the current quality of our beingness, as perhaps a different way of "keeping" time, one that centers the animacy and plurality of our beingness. There is, indeed, a narrative that binds these two seemingly disparate places -- the cosmos and the fungi.
Stories, along with what media and entertainment and culture we engage in, hold our attention and give us tools for navigating our terrain. Words and images can change hearts, minds, and even the course of history. Since the dawn of human memory, fungi have been by our side, as perhaps a sort of cosmic trickster, reminding us of our capacity for inquiry and humility.
In the spirit of Full Moon in Sagittarius, we release cycles of self-righteousness, scarcity, and rigid opinions that keep us separated from others. We have the opportunity to look at the philosophical high horses we rode in on and why this ideology or reasoning or logic or perspective is keeping us in a place of intolerance for others.
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| Reishi (Ganoderma lucidum) Mycelium |
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