Mycorrh-I see

Beneath the forest floor,

beyond the reach of roots and reason,

wisdom moves,

trading secrets in silence.

A web without center,

spun by intelligence older than thought.

I once believed in borders—

In each separate trunk, a sovereign soul.

But the trees ask:

Where does the cell end

and the soul begin? 

The birch feeds the beech.

The elder shares with the sapling.

And the sick are nourished

by those who still remember

what it means to be one.

They communicate

without speeches,

without sermons,

only signals that transcend 

any idea of separation. 

Where chemistry ends, biology begins, 

and melts into ecology. 

For beyond all terminology 

lies one truth—

Life. 

A network, 

an underlying essence

of interconnectedness—

Roots that hold the world together,

where chemistry becomes compassion,

and fungus means family.

This isn’t a metaphor,

it’s a message.

Life is sustained

by the intimacy of seeming strangers.

For individuality is an illusion,

but even illusions

can decompose

into truth.

Mycorrh-I see—

we are not alone.

We never were.