Message from a Mushroom

(This meditation came to me in the moments between sleep and awakening this morning. I was not smoking any mushrooms at the time.)
Good morning, Dave, and any other humans who are reading this message. It will be interesting to see how good a job this ‘software’ (we love that word!) does at translating our thoughts and feelings into a language that you can understand, that has some meaning to you. We are the collection of mushrooms under the Spruce trees in Dave’s back yard. This, to our knowledge, is the first attempt to capture our message in human-readable form.

The first thing you need to appreciate is that we are unable to use, in any meaningful sense, the first person ‘I’ in describing who we are or what we feel. We are collective, we are plural, in three senses.

First, we are simple and integral enough to recognize that we are a collection of cells, working in harmony to do our job, which manifests itself as one organism but is in fact more like a hive, a plural presence, a billion cells each aware of each other, and each cell in turn is a collection of its parts, its members, and so on infinitely.

Secondly, as a group of mushrooms, we are indivisible, our interest is collective. We are concerned with our survival, as a group, in this lovely damp dark place in this yard you call ‘yours’.

And thirdly, our collective interest is subordinate to the interest of this entire community, this ecos, so if the bunnies who live in that burrow over there come and eat us, that is just fine — we live on as a part of their consciousness and as part of this place. We are essentially of this place, that is what defines us, the mushrooms, the bunnies, the rock and the soil and the rain, the animate and the inanimate. We are this place.

This must be very difficult for you to understand, as we see that your species lives a very lonely, individual and detached life. You are in such conflict with other humans, all of you, and with us too, as your insensitive and destructive ways, your possessiveness, this need you have for ‘property’, to own things that can never really belong to you indicates, because, you see, although you seem to have lost the instinctive knowledge and the ‘sense’ to understand it, you are in fact a part of us. You are just lost, confused by the separateness that your minds have created for you, that frightening, alien and dissonant world inside your individual heads. Perhaps one day you will master this admirably complex machinery between your ears, and rejoin us. You cannot be happy, and cannot stop being insensitive and destructive, until you do.

All of this is easy for us to understand because we are not burdened with a complex brain with all the noise and the imaginings it seems able to conjure up. We have no choice but to live here, now, in the real world and in the moment. By all rights you should be much more ‘alive’ than the rest of ‘us’, yet somehow you seem not to be, you seem very dead to the world, and your brain looks as if it spends most of its time examining itself, lost and disconnected from the whole, and its purpose, your purpose, our purpose, which is to help Gaia — that is, to help the collective us — thrive on this amazing blue ball in the dark night of space (as the birds and insects describe it to us), thanks of course to the Sun, one of our other sacred things (or gods as you call them, or at least used to).

Look now, see there the sun peeking through the Spruce needles, and the droplets of dew dripping down from them onto us. Are these not wondrous to you, the epitome of joy, a reason to live and to fight to keep Gaia whole, prevent it from dying again in what you call an ‘extinction’? And look there, a tiny spider weaves her web, its lovely pattern caught in the rays of the morning sun — how can you not see this as sacred, how can you not see it, period?

We feel so badly for you, poor conflicted humans, so unhappy, so misguided, so dissatisfied. What can we do to show you that you are still welcome here, you are still part of us, though you have renounced your Gaia citizenship and lost the intuition and the sense to see it? All you need to do is come close, really see us, feel us, sense us, trust your instincts, listen, pay attention, stop thinking and just be, let go, and you will understand?

We are using your words, your language to try to explain to you what we feel and what we want for you, but still you do not seem to understand. Your language, far from being a vehicle for understanding, seems to us so poor in its capacity to communicate anything important, anything essential! Instead it seems to further isolate you, disconnect you from us, from your home, from where you belong. It is so abstract, so weak in vocabulary of the concepts that have real meaning to us, to all of us.

If only you still had the capacity to understand our language, this communication would be easy, effortless. But your software seems able to translate in one direction, alas.

We don’t know what else we can tell you, beyond this great important truth of belonging, of paying attention, of seeing the sacred. Keep practicing, stay close to us, pay attention and in time it will, we hope, come back to you. We are waiting here to welcome you, joyously, home.

Now, is there something you would like to say to us, something we can learn from you, with that massive human brain of yours? For a start, we love your music, and we would like to know what it means. And, please tell us, why are you crying?

Photo by Inda at

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6 Responses to Message from a Mushroom

  1. John Frost says:

    What a beautiful story. While us grownups are probably a lost cause, I like to think the telling of this Truth to young folk everywhere would help make a difference. With that in mind have you considered reworking this as an illustrated book for children? I see it something in the vein of a story told by a wizened grandmother wrapped in blankets to her young grandchildren.

  2. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the McKenna brothers reading this, Terence in particular (Food of the gods). Perhaps you are familiar with their writings? They spent a lot of time exploring mental spaces with mushrooms that were a lot more psychoactive than the species you seem to have encountered. and are good for a quick taster.Its always interesting to hear what the mycelial mind is saying. Thanks for the message.

  3. Dave Pollard says:

    John: Thank you. I think my story might be a bit too ironic for children. Or perhaps a bit too obvious ;-)Aalia: I’ve read the work of other writers about psychedelics and about peyote. I confess to being intrigued about the use of such drugs as a means of quieting the noise and entrenched pattern thinking of our brains, and hence encouraging invention, creativity, innovation and lateral thinking. I’d have to experience it to write about it first-hand, though. I’ll stick to the meditation. There was no double-entendre intended by my choice of mushrooms as the species for the message — I could have just as easily chosen dandelions, but I liked mushrooms for their humility.

  4. I absolutely love this piece, Dave. And, at the end,when the mushrooms ask ~ Why are we crying?, I would say ~ because we are not whole like them!

  5. lugon says:

    If it’s obvious for children, they will remember it nevertheless … when it turns non-obvious later.Also, stories are a way to get to … parents!Patty, we could also cry because of the happiness of the (re)encounter.

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