The incense smoke curls upward like the unfurling frond of some ethereal fern, the smell of burning sage hangs in the air mixing with the recognisable odour of marijuana. There is a soft low chanting of “Om Namaha Shivaya” that is barely audible as the rain drums gently on the roof. The room is dimly lit with a soft mellow glow of candle light, gently illuminating the faces of those present. All are seated on the floor, legs crossed, hands folded in their laps and eyes half lidded. Dressed in comfortable flowing clothes these are the adepts awaiting initiation. A copper bowl is passed between them, its contents a tangle of dried stems and the puckered golden caps of mushrooms, some as large as your thumb. Each person takes what they need from the bowl and reverently begins to chew, they don’t swallow, they chew until the flesh of the mushroom breaks down to a slush in the mouth and becomes one with them from the inside. The journey will begin shortly, the participants sit patiently and listen to the rain while softly reciting their mantra. They have prepared for this night for months through Asana, meditation, study and discourse. Each of them holds an intention in their mind, a teaching they would like from the children of the forest. Their preparation has instilled within them a deep reverence for the wisdom of the sacred mushroom, a wisdom that has guided their people for years since the great fall. Allowing them to reintegrate with the biosphere, recognise that they are part of the natural world and heal the deep wounds of the times gone by. In listening to the teachers their community has learned how to live in harmony with mother nature, taking only what they need when they need it, and in return they are blessed with abundance and fulfilment in life.
On collapse - part 2
On collapse - part 2
On collapse - part 2
The incense smoke curls upward like the unfurling frond of some ethereal fern, the smell of burning sage hangs in the air mixing with the recognisable odour of marijuana. There is a soft low chanting of “Om Namaha Shivaya” that is barely audible as the rain drums gently on the roof. The room is dimly lit with a soft mellow glow of candle light, gently illuminating the faces of those present. All are seated on the floor, legs crossed, hands folded in their laps and eyes half lidded. Dressed in comfortable flowing clothes these are the adepts awaiting initiation. A copper bowl is passed between them, its contents a tangle of dried stems and the puckered golden caps of mushrooms, some as large as your thumb. Each person takes what they need from the bowl and reverently begins to chew, they don’t swallow, they chew until the flesh of the mushroom breaks down to a slush in the mouth and becomes one with them from the inside. The journey will begin shortly, the participants sit patiently and listen to the rain while softly reciting their mantra. They have prepared for this night for months through Asana, meditation, study and discourse. Each of them holds an intention in their mind, a teaching they would like from the children of the forest. Their preparation has instilled within them a deep reverence for the wisdom of the sacred mushroom, a wisdom that has guided their people for years since the great fall. Allowing them to reintegrate with the biosphere, recognise that they are part of the natural world and heal the deep wounds of the times gone by. In listening to the teachers their community has learned how to live in harmony with mother nature, taking only what they need when they need it, and in return they are blessed with abundance and fulfilment in life.