chapter 18. DECAY #2
on decay and renewal
THE IMAGE of the two trigrams: below the Wind, above a Mountain. Inside the mountain is movement: teeming maggots and worms. A scalding waste dump, a steaming compost heap. There is decay, decomposition and conversion. A host of bacteria, yeasts and fungi are doing their work. In a wheelie bin left in the sun for a long time. In the round cheeses in the caves of Roquefort. In a barrel of wine. And last but not least: inside your own intestines. What do you see and smell when you hear the word spoilage? Poison-coloured fungi or delicate ceps? Is decay the end or a fresh start? Mushrooms are wreckers ánd innovators.
The twin tree is felled. Its two massive grey trunks lay like a bridge across the water, where the lake narrows to a small weir. An autumn storm became too much for her. Her double crown was still full in leaf and took the brunt of it. When the crew of a sailing ship expects a storm, sails are hastily reefed and the wind has only the mast and rigging to tug and pull furiously. But the tree had been caught off guard by the warm autumn weather and had received no warning to drop its leaves now anyway. Too many leaves, too much wind and sodden soil meant a sudden end to the forked beech's centenary life.
Is it the thin soft skin, which resembles ours? Is it the open eyes, which bear witness? Is it the growing of beeches in each other's proximity that reminds us of our deep desire not to be alone? Carve the initials of your loved one and yourself into the bark, surround it with a heart. Thus, your union is linked to the fate of the tree, which will outlast you in years. But what happens if the tree gives way prematurely due to an autumn storm? Does that also seal your fate? Or is this yet another confirmation that everything, everything is changeable, that nothing will retain his or her form. The tree falls, the wood cracks, fungi and mould eat their way in, decaying and rotting. Even the heart with your names does not escape it, fungal threads grow through it and it slowly but surely falls apart. Charred wood and then loose forest soil, a germinating beechnut, a vital young tree, a new love, a newly carved heart.
On the morning after the storm, decay could be seen in the heart of the tree. Following the image of the hexagram: Wind under Mountain, but now not swarming maggots, but fungi and moulds, rotten wood in the middle of the trunk. In living memory, the flawless bark had not given any clue about this advanced decay. The resulting black pit, with roots snapped off in many places, reveals how shallow the tree was actually but anchored, and how drenched the earth was, so close to the lake shore.
Although as humans we generally feel little solidarity with plants and trees, the fallen twin beech is a painful reminder of our finitude. Until yesterday, she stood there, imperturbable, unflinching, like a beacon in a world of change. She stood there long and wide the day I was born and would still stand there after my lifetime. But now it appears that her life was being insidiously undermined, her wood grown through with fungal threads and soaked with moisture. The assassins operated in the twilight, parasites they are, wreckers of another world. And not only are they responsible for the demise of this magnificent tree, their decay knows no bounds. Black mould in the bathroom, green ones on the bread in the bread bin, mould on the fruit bowl, mould between toes, in the fridge, under the mattress, mushrooms in the crawl space, poisonous mushrooms in the forest. Lets protect life and declare war on them!
Or is it? Besides mushroom and fungus phobia, there is a persistent hatred of all things bacterial and viral and a deep loathing for parasites. But we are getting wiser. Without these wreckers, everything would remain as it was, stagnating in a perpetual status quo. Within our worldview, they are slowly regaining their central place in the cycle of life. It is time to exchange fear of them for fascination. Without breakdown and decay, there is no renewal.Â
To be continued ...