This article is based on this dutch article of Martijn Benders
The Higher Honey Was a Syrup
In Amanita Muscaria, the Book of the Empress, I argue that Genesis is not a creation story but the first form of drug law. The apple, of course, symbolizes the Amanita Muscaria, and the church forbade its picking because the effects of this mushroom were seen as undesirable. It makes one assertive, and if you wish to control various tribes with some fairytale, banning this mushroom is the first step.
And so, I find myself in a country where many people believe in syrups, for the forest belongs to the King. These medieval figures know perfectly well that there are fewer and fewer animals and an ongoing insect genocide, making it harder for the mycelia to spread their spores. But, Efteling! Do not pick, because, Supermarket! Yes. Insane, in other words, and that’s what these Antiphonic poems are mainly about.
Due to such people, mushrooms are becoming extinct faster. I have no other way to put it. A mushroom is the fruit of a mycelium. It produces them precisely to spread its spores. If you pick a mushroom, you help the mycelium with that spreading. If you leave the mushroom, it withers and can service the mycelium much less effectively.
Maybe in the past, mushrooms didn’t need humans, as it was mainly the many insects that managed to spread the spores. Those insects are now absent.
Thanks to these medieval figures, mushroom diversity in our country is shrinking. I often pick in Poland, where there is a picking tradition, and the diversity and quantity of mushrooms are much, much better. Yes, that’s thanks to that picking.
Polish mushroom hunters often throw a mushroom high into the air if they do not take it with them, precisely to help the mycelium spread. These people understand nature.
But those medieval figures who see nature as a museum? Woe and alas.
It is not going well at all with the mushroom population in the Netherlands. It is becoming increasingly monotonous, and this has a lot to do with people who believe the forest belongs to some tyrannical fairytale figure.
And there we see the triumph of misunderstanding, the failing intellect that subjects nature to its narrow-minded laws. We live in an era where people lead their lives in the shadow of cardboard castles, where every leaf, every branch, and every fruit is claimed by an invisible hand, the hand of the royal forest ranger, who has banned not only the hunt for game but also the pursuit of truth.
Because imagine, imagine that we, mere mortals of flesh and bone, saw the mushroom for what it truly is! Not just a fruit of the mycelium, but the last voice of a hidden world, an underground intelligence that carefully and precisely hurls its spores into the world, waiting, always waiting, for that rare chance to grow, spread, and live anew.
In my new collection, I deliberately choose Antiphony as the main form: these are poems that continually react to each other, as these two do. Syrups in a higher context: the divine power of ripping a little goat into pieces, which, of course, you hide from the civilized guests.
The higher honey, so to speak.
Your devoted mycologist,
Martinus
06-10-2024