It’s the mushrooms days. I think its my favorite time of the year; walking in the dense, deep, damp of autumn, scouting, head bend to towards the ground, the animal senses. Then home to slice the mushrooms and place them on the drying rack over the stove.
Stews and sauces. Soups and chili con carne.
Maybe its raining just a little bit outside. The occasional ray of sun. Hazelnuts falling from the trees like small bombs, the very visible debris of a squirrel having cracked open a pine nut, I think I can hear raven. The wild boars are oddly absent these days but I follow their narrow tracks through the under forest. Some bones here. Some bones there. And then of course the endless amount of rocks and boulders whom are, in case you didn´t know, alive, a different sort of animal, it´s just that time is different for the rocks and the boulders… but I see the shape of their faces and their strange looks too. A sea of soft moss.
A lot of things are happening in my life and I don´t understand, not at all. I feel disoriented but not as I used to be, this is different, I feel like I have just been born. With my eyes I look around and I try to make sense of things but I don’t know who I am or where I am or what I am supposed to be doing or where I should go now.
As the older kids have moved away from home I sort of wake up only to realize that I am not at all the same person I was before I had them. I don’t even remember that person.
I´ve spendt the last 23 years metaphorically around the fire but I´m not the caretaker of the fire anymore, I think, I think I am the hunter and the gather, I walk and I wander – but I don´t know to whom I should bring the kill.
Then I realized, this morning, gathering mushrooms; maybe i´m not supposed to feed the flock anymore?
And I became terrified.
Went home. Lit the fire in the giant, giant, giant baking oven made from rocks and boulders. Sliced the mushrooms, placed them on the rack, drank a cup of coffee, stong, black and bitter, opened my computer to found a political party (I´m the thinking “the writers climate party”), write a book, invite women for a women circle, a basisgroup, a ritual, write a column for the newspaper, finish an essay for an anthology of women occultists, do some marketing for my völva work, write some friends, update my homepage, send some invoices, research how to do an audiobook (of the forest book), read the newspapers, check instagram, also I´m considering founding a mentor network and/or apply for a real job and then checking where the next activists events will take place, this restless energy, I want to do MORE, why I am not doing MORE, where can I do MORE.
Or just anything, really, I can´t sit still.
I´ve tried to initiate many events during the last year. Workshops and seminars, initiatives and collaborations. None of it toke off, things got in the way, listen, listen to the universe; “Where is the energy, where is the luck, where is the lack of resistance?”
What I am trying to say right now is that the mushrooms are all connected underneath the soil, connecting by mycelium to each other and to the trees, under the soil there is communication and it’s a murmur. If you listen very carefully, if you lay down and place your ear to the ground you can hear it, I´ve heard it, i just forget all the time or maybe I don’t want to hear it.
“Where is the energy, where is the luck, where is the lack of resistance?”
The hardest thing I have ever done is to do nothing. And I don´t believe in it anyways- but maybe things are be to be done to me now? Or maybe I must sharpen my senses, listen more carefully, sniff, feel, hear.
Wait for the prey.
I surrender to the mushroom days.