The Mushroom Messiah


The melt-down break-down
as coastlines drown
& we send our minds into the cloud
like dandelion seeds, up here
While down there
the wheelhouse darkness cuddles
an eminent domain of lichen, fungi, bacteria
Whoever makes up a story, makes up a world

Dear brave world of our human hearts
hearten up
Once upon a time
before our radically un-knowable future
before History was another word for Irony
the horrors of conscious extinction unrolling
as wars hammer us down
& liars and thieves take it all out
Before the monster imposters of illumination
beneath these impossible arrangements
lives an old story
so new it’s still in the middle of unfolding and
I stand in the echo of failed human
above everything that made everything
and everything that unmakes it

O, Mycilia
Our eco-crisis is their eco-solution
Evolution flexing all our frames
a magic carpet living beneath the ground
reciting every possibility down there in the storied darkness
This is the poem of never-ending leaf-fall
all the composted years
and all the leaves to come
Bubbles come into being and snap out of existence
stacked dimensionalities of everything possible
No dividing and conquering
just comfort and support
for every verdant unfoldment
every blue wave riding a green world
For flashing eons of
guns rusting, concrete cracking
flowers sprouted through eyeholes and rib cages

Can you hear them humming underfoot
the wild, joyful dreams of someone else
Someone who’s pressed
richly under to be raised
richly up, unfurling future comebacks
breathless with patience to
transform this nightmare
into something noble

What if
this suffering time sets the stage
for the coming of The Mushroom Messiah?
All Hail The Fungus!
Pure collaboration with all creation
healing the world from traumas
of human dramas
balancing every forest
holding Life in their great hearts
Invisible splayed-out universes
blind mimes mesmerizing this moment
repositories of memory
Mindful kindness branching
fingers threaded, interlacing generosity
born to share with the great forest trees
one living fractal
the threadlike masses networking

Benevolent spores
whose chanting laces ancient basement rooms
Cosmic demolition crew all set to begin again
O mycellium!
Caregivers of life
don't need air or light and so
they’ve lived with earth the longest
are indigenous deeper than anyone.

Fuck technological innovation, follow that fungus!
Through every mass extinction
they played horns in the subterranean orchestra
chanting songs to the creator 
drumming while ice covered the earth
Predicted the dinosaurs’ crash with their cymbals   
played sweet silvered flutes
through epochs of sulfur-spewing volcanoes
tinkled extinct ivories to Chernobyl and Fukushima
Like a whistle about to blow
the bow held just above the strings
down there
poised above despair
where strategic fairy looms map Gaia’s future
subsidizing life’s reprieve
Immanent alliances scarfing at the archeological edges
knowing the holy words or what passes for words
sliding from the space that passes for mouths.
Every mouthful, a renaissance
brewers of redemptive medicine
servants of synergy
relationship masters

They took notes on the Big Bang
remember in their vast lineage the face of god
are lit inside their deep darkness with memories
and remedies
for shit we haven't even imagined
Imagine now––
Patient, waiting through extinctions
monstrous mutations, toxifications
through global warming now, again
climactic cataclysm
these schisms are nothing but lunch to them

Fasten yr seatbelts, two-leggeds
‘cos here comes the end of our brief stay
of poetry and industrialization
farming and fighter jets
We end where they begin, it's all a spin
all endings are beginnings
in the great rolling hula hoop
nesting below breath
All endings beginnings
for them
who knows where they came from or where they’re going?
Just call Them Mother and trust that this is way deeper than we are.

Once upon a time
there was a vast silent invisible Being
and no religions are made in its image
A magical carpet of life beneath the ground
beating so slowly the rhythm
of beaded galaxies
slow-waltzing without end
and so
darkness spangled with Life survives
eternally creating flowers and babies from garbage and greed
No scams or nasty side-effects
just act upon act piled high on a cosmic plate for the gobbling of all consequences
No sin. No hell. No anxiety to claw onto
the smooth tube digests all karma
and out slides the next sacred thing
all consequences, just food for them
The Mushroom Messiah, picking up the check
for all our table
I wait with an open heart
to be taken down.

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