Mushroom Tea

 

A barest wisp of steam curled from the top of his mug and drifted up, slowly merging with the same-colored sky. The tea had a heady earthy smell, like sweet forest dirt. It tasted a little bitter, but the astringency was welcome in a warm morning drink. It was made from powdered mushrooms the woman had gathered locally on the mountain slopes. As he considered that, he thought probably it had been her “assistant” who had gathered them. She called him her assistant, though apprentice would be a more correct title. The youth seemed studious and serious enough, so he trusted in their foraging abilities. The tea had a wonderful effect on his mind. He'd felt, these past days, a remarkable focus and clarity in his work, and time seemed to slip by quite smoothly. It only bothered a small part of him that he could not fully grasp how many days he had been here. He had at least a good-enough sense of energies to know this woman did not mean him harm.

What then, did she mean? He sensed the woman in white had an ulterior motive for bringing him here, but could not yet sense the connections. It was only the three of them in this ruined village. Tucked around the elephantine summit rocks were traces of other cottages and hermit dwellings overgrown with moss and weeds. The three small buildings which they occupied were just below the old market square: an open granite round that looked out on valley views between the spruce. Telon had a vague memory of this place; that he had seen an image of it somewhere before. It certainly was not a part of the same mountain he had been on when he met the woman though. She had called over to him from across the small square outside the Abrahim wall. She had been dressed all in white, albeit practically for the mountain conditions, but with the addition of an ethereally thin shawl. He felt a sense of warmth from her that assuaged his mistrust, and he approached. She assured him that he could meet with the observatory scholars if he wished, but that she might be able to better direct his energies. She said she had the answers he sought, but could also tell him more about how his kind should respond. The scholars were not so willing to share their knowledge, she said. He had kept the appointment they set at the “burnt rock” just outside of the village, knowing he was entering a trap. It was a gentle sort of trap though, as he continued to sense no malice in her or her young assistant. Additionally, he had been very curious about her at the time, a feeling that had not been assuaged.

It was the transport that nagged at him. He still wasn't sure how she had effected it. The woman in white said she had long been able to “slip” between similar aspects of a landscape. She would project out through meditation into an imagined body in another place with similar characteristics to the one which her body occupied. If her concentration and openness were strong enough, she could even interact with things in that other place. She said she had manually “captured” the blue-cloaked scholar's consciousness here on this other summit, using the rocks as a conduit. The ensuing paradox resolved by manifesting a body for the consciousness and effectively “teleporting” him from one peak to the other. As he stood here on the sloping rock summit drinking his tea, Telon wondered if this cloak was really the same one he had had all these years. The fabric had the exact same wear and age, but it seemed so improbable that it was here.

Holding the warm cup in his hands, Telon gazed out into the morning fog. It had been thicker lately, but he didn't mind: it made for good meditating. He had been staring these recent days out into the clouds, trying to sense the patterns out there in the world. What was the flow of those patterns and how could one best prepare to float amongst them? The woman said there was a change occurring. The proper patterns and aspects of the worldly flow were becoming more chaotic. She was concerned for the dysregulation of those patterns. Telon had always had a knack for the energetic work of landcraft, even though his specialty was research. This woman though seemed more knowledgeable than most scholars he had met. He told himself again that her force was a positive one, but knew he should maintain his natural wariness all the same.

A light breeze had developed, and Telon secured his cloak more around his body. The morning air of late had developed a chill to it that he did not remember from his previous time in the mountains. He reasoned though that he had been by the lake-shore and in the valleys for a while before this, and possibly had just forgotten the effects of elevation. The peak with the ruined village was lower than Abrahim, but still sat at a good height. On clear days there were far-reaching views to many sides, and Telon could see a line of deep-green mountains stretching southward. There would be no views this morning however, and he turned to descend back to the cabins. His tea was nearly finished and he knew the woman would want to confer with him about their plans for the day. They usually spent their time working apart, but would often discuss their findings or goals for study. Telon's day would undoubtedly be another productive one of attempting to commune with the subtle patterns in the groves; meditating and working out energetic equations in his journal. Through her guidance he was beginning to see how much information could be gained from the natural world. Everything had connections to other parts of existence, and nature was like a vast library of experiences and wisdom. Telon could see now how much of the essential nature of reality the city scholars had missed. They had only a partial conception of how energy flowed and collected. Telon did not yet understand those inner workings, but he knew enough to see the void in his knowledge. Approaching the cottage, he finished his cup; the mushroom tea was working for sure.

Self-Stories

 

“What is the self?” A scholar had asked that of her class once at the Sanctuary. He wore a brown robe like the other scholar initiates, but spoke with the slower assuredness that marked one who had studied well and long. Ayleah remembered he had been a visiting teacher, substituting in the role that day. The meditation class had often had guest teachers, just one of the things Ayleah had liked about it beyond the material. It was held out in the aspen grove, a stand of young trees at the edge of some wetlands west of the city. The light-colored trunks sprouted in community: sky-reaching branches of one connected organism. Among this friendly family the air felt peaceful and reflective. A soft rustling sound of the aspen leaves high above added to the pleasant atmosphere. There was a small simple room available to them, but Ayleah preferred when they could hold the class outside.

The guest teacher had spoken their question only slightly rhetorically, and looked almost expectantly at the class during his pause for effect. No one answered right away though, so he continued.

“Society will make you believe certain things about the self. It is not at fault with this, society can only be what it was made into by the previous actions of its inhabitants. History creates ideas and beliefs, which harden into preferences about how reality works. What we learn by observing the society around us may not be the truth, but rather a pattern that most people have found convenient for their day-to-day use. And so it is with the nature of the self to the rest of the world.

“Most learn a heuristic: that the self is a thing like any other in the universe. It cannot be sensed in the same way, but it is there, as a solid core, within each and every one of us. This is sometimes personified into the 'soul' or 'spirit', depending on your personal faith or studies.” During these lines he scrutinized the listening class, as if trying to see what each of their “core selves” were like.

“This pattern creates a classical problem though: how do we account for the connection between the world and the mind of the self? How are physical sensations and chemical processes translated into spirit, and commands translated back again? The answer is in the truth that this is a false conception of the self. We are not core packets of soul-stuff. Our inner light is a result of the self and a product of its doings, not its building blocks. The energy of our selves is only unique in how it differs in form. Each of us manifests a different pattern of energy, but it is in essence the same beautiful stuff. It also exists in other bodies of the world, living and inert, but that is a talk for another time.

“What we think of as “the self” is just a cohesion of influences and energies that changes in small but meaningful ways all the time. We create the self by our actions and behaviors; by our thoughts, feelings, and how we respond to them. Over time, patterns that are learned and trained stabilize if they are helpful. Of course, unhelpful patterns can be destructive, but we can prune them and guide them as we would a tree or shrub.”

The teacher had continued, expanding on the shrubbery metaphor, but Ayleah's mind now moved to thoughts of her own self. Kaeri had influenced these thoughts of late, with their own inscrutable ways of selfhood. She knew there was something about her that connected with the energies of the world. Not that others didn't, but with her the channels seemed especially open. The others around her had an appreciation of the natural world, but did not seem as enraptured by its energies. She felt pulled to certain spots, and repelled from others. It was not an uncontrollable sense, but enough to arouse her curiosity. Indeed, and unfortunately she realized, the last couple days she felt she had paid less attention to her companions, so distracting were these thoughts. How long had they been up here, in the mountains? Time had also become less sure to her perception.

The words of the plain-robed teacher back at the sanctuary mingled with what Kaeri had told her. More and more Ayleah felt there was no true self, only a center that identified with itself. With no identification, there could be no action, coherence, or sanity. She was comforted by the fact that that coherence took no effort, but to be conscious of it was still unnerving. Somehow there is more trust in an automatic process if it is invisible. Exposed to the light though, things were easier to fix, and so Ayleah felt she was at least moving in the right direction.

Isak's farm helped her to explore this creation. While working in the meadows and glades she spent a good deal of time thinking and practicing the art of self-hood. Understanding the self and cultivating the mountain produce went nicely hand-in-hand. Both were meditative activities, which required focus and skill. Isak's presence also did not detract. He was kind and confident yet reserved and gentle in his motions. After facing strife in his childhood, he had started his farming young. Now barely older than Ayleah herself, he could claim a successful business, and a stable role in the community. He had little in the way of scholarly learning, but didn't miss it, as an innate wisdom seemed to flow from within him when it needed to.

The farm was well-staffed, and well-stocked. They had groves of sweet young fir trees, and thickets of berry bushes. They had gardens of mountain herbs and flowers, and extensive moss farms where they produced sod for landscaping. They had a good quantity of wood available, both sturdy and weathered for building and rotten for mulching and earthwork. Isak was a perfect gentleman in every way, and welcomed Ayleah onto the farm. She stayed in a small cottage like the others who lived and worked there, but it seemed Isak treated her differently than a typical crew member. As for Ayleah, she was in no hurry to continue on. The farm seemed where she needed to be for now. There had been no sign or sound of the woman in white at Lincoln Peak, and she did not know where else to look for Telon. Grive would let her know right away if there was any word; he stopped in once in a while to catch up with Isak, who he saw as a bit of a protégé. Ayleah thought again of her previous conversations with Kaeri about destiny. These terms seemed so heavy and deep in their implications, but maybe it all wasn't that complicated. Maybe, Ayleah thought, this is a good place for me- maybe I could create a good self for my destiny here, or is it a good destiny for my self? Isak, she thought, seemed to have a pretty good handle on his own self. And he was more than fairly good-looking too.

She must feel safe, he reasoned. Ayleah being how she was, Jaen knew she must have a good sense of trust for Isak, though they had only recently met. Grive had vouched for him as a quality member of society of course, but Ayleah always seemed to keep her own counsel when judging other people. Isak had a calm, accepting demeanor. He seemed to keep busy with his work, though he was never in a hurry. There was a quiet confidence in his humble manners that was obviously attractive. It shed a light, for Jaen, on some of his own faults. He had been too self-conscious, and preoccupied with his duties leading the group. He had no-one but himself to blame for not making more of a move.

Isak gave her the space she needed. Ayleah had been troubled lately, as news of her missing mentor had been scarce. Her conversations with that Kaeri person hadn't seemed to help. Something they had told her had made Ayleah more unsure. The Ayleah that Jaen knew did not lack in confidence, and so it seemed good she was taking time away for herself. Whether or not she was infatuated with the handsome farmer did not bother Jaen too much. He doubted that anything would come of it, though at the same time wondering if the doubt was only imagined to comfort himself. What was surprisingly hard to admit was that either way it was probably the right move for her.

Not that Jaen wouldn't be around. Grive planned on keeping him for a few moon-cycles at least, claiming he had found his new top ranger captain. He had even hinted that, should Jaen do well, he could stay on indefinitely. “At least until I find someone better.” the grizzled uncle had said.

Whatever he had been at the trailhead, Jaen was more aware by now. His forays into the mountain wilderness on scouting trips for Grive gave him life. It was a raw, earthy sort of life, mingled with the brisk clean air. He warmed to leading teams, over time becoming a favorite among the mountain rangers. Under Jaen's command, expeditions were always successful and completed near schedule. They sometimes took unorthodox routes and came back brimming and beaten with the spirit of adventure, but they always brought back valuable information on trading and resources. The young captain began to feel more and more like the man he knew he could be.

Jaen saw little of the farm on Little Abrahim, but occasionally thought of the young woman working and living there. Had she found herself yet? At times Jaen felt like he had drifted from the main story, as if something of importance was happening elsewhere from where he was. When he had these thoughts, he told himself that the truth was he had his own story. It was a pretty good plot so far, and he still thought he could make it into something even greater.