Along the Mycelium: Synapses, Stars, and Shadows
With the Whisper of a Butterfly’s Wing: Imaginal Cells and Transcendental Growth
Along the Mycelium: Synapses, Stars, and Shadows
With the Whisper of a Butterfly’s Wing: Imaginal Cells and Transcendental Growth
There’s a subtle whisper in the air—a delicate flutter of wings, barely audible, but enough to shift the direction of the wind. As I sit here, preparing for the busy weeks ahead, I can’t help but think of how this whisper—the soft beat of a butterfly’s wing—has come to embody so much of my current journey. It’s a metaphor for the imaginal cells that live within us, dormant until the right moment, carrying the blueprint for something new, something transformational.
In biology, imaginal cells contain the future within them. In the caterpillar, they remain hidden until the chrysalis forms. Then, quietly and imperceptibly, they begin their work, dismantling the old structure and building the new. This process, this unfolding, feels incredibly apt for where I am now—not just as an academic, but as a poet, an artist, and a human being seeking transcendence through the very nature of growth.
The Mycelial Path: A Foundation of Connection
When I think about The Wandering Lamb, the first of my books, I see it now as the mycelial layer of my creative trilogy. Mycelium is the network beneath the surface, invisible yet vital, connecting everything across vast distances. It’s the ember Ram Dass speaks of—the fire passed down through generations, quietly sustaining life. It’s Alan Watts, transmitting truth like a quiet revolution through the invisible wires of wisdom.
Like the mycelium, The Wandering Lamb is about roots, connection, and the spaces of warmth we create around a fire. It's the beginning of the journey—symbolic of the safe, communal spaces that allow us to connect with ourselves and one another, often unseen but essential for survival. These are the roots that nourish the new growth to come.
The Synaptic Spark: From Connection to Creation
Then we arrive at The Butterfly Farmer. This is where the synaptic comes in. Like the sparks that jump between neurons, it’s a book about transformation, about taking the connections formed beneath the surface and allowing them to fire into something new. The butterfly, emerging from the chrysalis, is at its most fragile in the moments after its release. Its wings are still wet, still soft, and it must pause before taking flight. I find myself in that very moment now—on the verge of something new, a little uncertain, but no longer fearful.
The synaptic energy of this work is what powers us forward, creating new pathways, new connections. It's about the moment of change, when the old structure falls away and the new one begins to take form. In this moment of pause, before flight, I am surrounded by the community I have built—scholars, poets, artists—all of us firing together, lighting the way forward.
I’ve been reminded, especially this week, of the importance of protection. My research community—those who stand by me like the heroes of Tolkien’s tales—are my shield. When my supervisor, Kristy Howells, insisted I find others, I didn’t realize the full weight of her words. Now I do. These allies, like Helen Kara, Pamela Burnard, and Jonathan Barnes, have formed a protective circle around me, allowing me the space to emerge, to grow, to become.
The Celestial Garden: Reaching for the Stars
The final layer, the celestial, is embodied in The Diamond Gardener, the book that has yet to fully emerge but that is already growing within me. If The Wandering Lamb is the mycelial foundation and The Butterfly Farmer is the synaptic transformation, then The Diamond Gardener is the celestial—reaching upwards, stretching toward the stars. It is the culmination of all that has come before, the dream of a world built not just on survival and connection but on something higher, something transcendent.
As I walk this path—mycelial, synaptic, celestial—I realize that I am building my own Middle-earth. These characters, these worlds, are becoming flesh and bone in my mind. Each layer is interwoven, connected, and dependent on the others. And through it all, the whisper of the butterfly’s wing reminds me of the fragility and strength inherent in this process.
The Power of the Imaginal Cell
The imaginal cell, dormant until needed, is a perfect metaphor for this transcendental growth. It carries within it the potential for something entirely new, something that can only emerge after the old has been broken down. But it doesn’t work alone. Imaginal cells must connect, must communicate, to create the butterfly. And so it is with us. We are each imaginal cells in the larger body of humanity, holding the blueprint for a better world, but only if we come together, only if we recognize the power of connection and community.
I see this in the people who have gathered around me—in the teachers, the poets, the scholars, the children. We are building something together, something rooted in the earth, connected by the synapses of thought, and reaching for the stars. And now, as I prepare for the event this weekend at Turner Contemporary, I realize that this is the moment of emergence. I’ll be bringing with me the first signed copies of Caleb Simmons’ beautiful illustration for The Butterfly Farmer. Thirty signed copies for thirty attendees—a small, intimate gathering, but one that feels incredibly significant.
This trilogy, these books, are more than just stories. They are metaphors for my journey, for the journey we are all on. As the butterfly pauses before its first flight, I too pause, knowing that what comes next will be both beautiful and challenging. But I am not alone. I have the mycelium beneath me, the synaptic connections firing around me, and the celestial stars above, guiding me forward.
Thank you for being part of this journey. Together, we will continue to walk along the mycelium, whispering with the wings of butterflies, and growing toward the stars.
