Brigid Faye, Reader

Once upon a time, there was a baby who was perfect in every way but one, the baby was naive. The precious baby girl came into the world because she had lessons to learn, and these lessons would be learned whether she liked it or not. When the baby had grown to the age of sixteen, she left home in search of knowledge. The wild world is a dangerous place away from parents’ protective arms however, and she met a fighting bull. This fighting bull was to be the first of her lessons on love.

The bull was a wounded warrior. An arrow of hate had pierced his heart, and all he wanted was ownership and control over the world around him, especially the one he loved. The baby didn’t know better, and followed the bull to a meadow. In the meadow they drank wine, and the bull showed the baby his friends. Together they danced. The dance was one of dominance, where the bull had to prove his superior nature over and over again to the baby. 

One night while they were dancing, the bull trampled the baby. He found the baby’s mangled body in the morning, and left it in the meadow. In the meadow the baby’s body sat for a time. Her blood, her essence spilled into the earth. A butterfly feeding on nectar saw the blood, and thinking it may be nutritious, drank the blood of the baby. In drinking the blood, the butterfly took on the essence of the baby. The baby was now a butterfly, and the butterfly was now the baby. From the bull she learned to always stand her ground. 

Butterflies need to dance. Butterflies are fragile. Sometimes, butterflies seek protection. The butterfly flitted for a time, before she landed on the horn of a ram. The ram thought her beautiful, and knew others would too. Being a businessman, the ram sold tickets so that others could see the beauty of the butterfly. He kept her still by feeding her tainted honey. 

The butterfly fell very ill, and saw the poison for what it was. She could barely fly, but she knew she needed to escape the ram. She gathered all of her strength, and started her migration. In the flying, she found new strength. The universe poured energy into her spirit, and her wings grew stronger. She started to have thoughts of her own, and grew a beak so that she may speak. The butterfly was now a lark. The lark was a butterfly, and the butterfly was the baby. From the ram she learned to always respect herself more than others. 

Now the lark flying and singing sweet songs was lonely again, and a clever fox saw her lonesomeness. He lured her in with tall tales of the world and how it works. His grace was second to none, and his charm was in his grace. He sang songs to match her own, and for a time, was quite lovely with the lark. However, foxes eat larks and it was all an elaborate scheme. The fox knew of the fear the lark carried, and convinced her to sleep in his mouth, where his teeth would protect her from all who would do her harm. 

It goes without saying that the fox ate the lark, and when she awoke she was nothing more than a pile of shit. This shit carried the essence of the lark, who carried the essence of the butterfly, who carried the essence of the baby. From the fox the baby learned that some beings are built for deception. Lucky for the shit, mushroom spores think that shit is the perfect place to grow. And so it was that one tiny spore found the shit, and started to grow. Mycelium grew out and connected to the mycelium in the earth. The mycelium is the skin of the earth, and feels everything she feels. And so the baby felt all that the earth feels for a time. 

While she was mycelium she fed off of the dead and the decaying, the waste of the world, and transformed it into her life. She was ever expanding, and ever communicating with all that is in a way only the fungi of the world can understand. She took comfort in the cold, damp, dark, soil. She took comfort in the shadow of the woods. She took comfort in the quiet and the noise that is the language of the fungi. 

When she had absorbed enough strength from the soil, and when she was ready, she decided to become a mushroom. The change was quick, and she sprang from the earth like a loaded gun. With the support of the trees she stood tall, and expressed her essence in its truest form. With a signal from the sky, as dusk overcame the land, she uncurled. Still safe in shadow, but lit by the light of the stars, she released her spores. She released her identity. She let it all go and cast her message into the air. Millions and billions of tiny particles that all contained her essence. These spores were a beacon, so that those meant to find her, would. Then she waited for a response.      

A human found her. She could not speak the language of the human, but she could speak the universal language of the fungi. The language of death. The language of birth. The language of orgasm. If only he knew how to listen. Of course this great human finder knew to taste the mushroom, and listen to what the mushroom had to say. 

When the human ate the mushroom he understood the baby, the butterfly, the lark, the poo, and the mycelium. He knew her story. He knew how to find her. And in eating the mushroom, he told the mycelium of his journeys. Walking in the forest, his altered mind was now aware of the awareness of the soil beneath his feet. The soil that knew his familiar footfalls, and those of everyone else. The silent keepers of the travels of man. Silent to only those who are afraid to listen. He listened, he reported, he took guidance. The experience of his divine reflection was digested and transformed. The essence of a baby, so long lost in her wanderings, remembered to find her body. When she returned, she found it in disrepair, in pain, collecting fragments of self lost to the earth. Every step we take in our path crosses, twists, entwines with that of others. He had been a ram. He had been a fox. He had been a bull. He was born perfect in every way but one, naivety.