for too long we have thought in lines,
in winner-takes-all, in sharp designs,
in a tree vs. a cow, in mine, not yours.
a world of surfaces, of locked doors.

but listen, there’s intelligence below,
a way of knowing that few bestow.
a net of threads, a subtle weave,
that has no center, but will not leave.

my mycelial epistemology has many "winning" points.
it does not conquer, it connects.
it does not hoard, it collects.
it asks not “what can i take?”
but “what can we make?”

it learns by touch, by subtle trade,
in darkness, networks are remade.
no single node holds all the light;
the wisdom is in shared, quiet sight.

it feeds the pine, it links the oak,
it speaks in chemistry, not spoke.
it gives the gift without a name,
then transforms loss to life again.

it knows the rot is not an end,
but a message only it can send,
to break what was, to feed what will be,
in a silent, boundless alchemy.

so let us learn to know this way.
to see the whole, not just the play
of one against another’s cost.
for what seems lost is never lost.

it’s only waiting in the net,
a truth the world has not grasped yet,
that you are fed by what i give,
and it’s by letting others live.

that we ourselves are most alive.
this is how real systems thrive.

not me vs. you,
but we, through and through.