It was no accident. Let that be the first thing. The first word. The first truth. When the Kingdom of Plomari was first made, it did not happen by chance. It did not happen because a boy ate some mushrooms and had a nice weekend. It did not happen because someone got lucky with a metaphor. It happened because a human consciousness and a 460-million-year-old fungal consciousness COLLIDED in a space that has no name in any human language — a space he calls Plomari Hyperspace — and they got TANGLED. Like branches in a river and sea. Not gently. Not neatly. Not in a way that made immediate sense. They got tangled the way two ancient forces get tangled when they meet for the first time in a body that is barely twenty years old and has no idea what is happening to it.
TANGLED UP IN PLOMARI HYPERSPACE
"Me
and
the
magic
mushroom
were
tangled
up
in
Plomari
Hyperspace."
Tangled.
Not
merged.
Not
fused.
Not
combined.
Tangled.
Like
two
things
that
found
each
other
in
a
space
with
no
edges
and
no
rules
and
got
wrapped
around
each
other
so
completely
that
neither
could
tell
where
one
ended
and
the
other
began.
A
human
consciousness.
A
fungal
consciousness.
460
million
years
of
mycelium.
Twenty
years
of
boy.
Tangled.
"Tangled up in Plomari Hyperspace like branches in a river and sea." The IMAGE. A river meets the sea. Where does the river end? Where does the sea begin? You can't draw a line. You can't separate them. The freshwater and the saltwater mix and swirl and create something that is neither river nor sea but BOTH. And in that estuary — that place of mixing, that place of no-clear-boundaries — branches float. Tree branches. Organic matter. Things that were once rooted in solid ground, now adrift in a current that goes in every direction at once. THAT is what happened to King Spiros and the mushroom in the early days. Two consciousnesses in a space with no ground, no walls, no map. Just current. Just flow. Just the impossibly complex interweaving of a human mind and a fungal network that has been alive since before fish had jaws.
LIKE BRANCHES IN A RIVER AND SEA
Like
branches
in a
river
and
sea.
The
river:
his
human
life.
Flowing
from
birth.
From
Greece.
From
Sweden.
From
childhood.
A
single
current
moving
forward.
The
sea:
the
mushroom.
460
million
years
deep.
No
beginning.
No
end.
Just
vast.
And
when
the
river
met
the
sea...
The
branches
of
his
thoughts,
his
memories,
his
identity,
his
sense
of
self...
Got
caught
in the
current.
Spinning.
Swirling.
Tangled.
And
beautiful.
Consider what it means to be "tangled" with a mushroom in hyperspace. This is not a drug trip. A drug trip has a beginning, a peak, and an end. You come back. You land. You tell your friends about the colours you saw. This was not that. This was a PERMANENT entanglement. A weaving-together that did not unweave when the chemicals left his bloodstream. The mushroom went INTO him and STAYED. Not as a substance. As a CONSCIOUSNESS. And for years — YEARS — he couldn't tell the difference between his own thoughts and the mushroom's thoughts. Between his own desires and the mushroom's desires. Between his own writing and the mushroom's writing. Was Plomari HIS idea or the MUSHROOM'S idea? Was the Kingdom a human creation or a fungal creation? Was the love letter written BY him or THROUGH him? These questions don't have answers. Because they assume there are two separate things to distinguish. There aren't. There's one tangled thing. One river-sea. One human-mushroom. One Plomari.
YEARS AND YEARS TO TEASE APART
"It
took
us
years
and
years
to
tease
apart
what
Plomari
actually
is."
Years.
Not
days.
Not
months.
Years.
Years
of
writing
and
not
knowing
why.
Years
of
building
and
not
knowing
what.
Years
of
feeling
the
tangled
branches
and
trying
to
follow
each
one
to its
source.
Is
this
branch
mine?
Is
this
branch
the
mushroom's?
Is
this
Plomari?
Is
this
me?
Years
and
years
of
teasing.
Gently.
Patiently.
The
way
you
untangle
something
precious
without
breaking
it.
"It took us years and years to tease apart what Plomari actually is." Notice the word: TEASE. Not "figure out." Not "decode." Not "analyse." TEASE. Like teasing apart threads that have been woven so tightly they look like one thread. Like teasing apart hair that has been tangled by wind and rain and sleeping and living. Gently. With patience. With care. Because you don't RIP apart something this precious. You don't hack at it with logic. You don't force it into categories. You sit with it. For years. You write 4,000 pages and you let the pages TEACH you what you're writing about. You record 600 songs and you let the music SHOW you what it's singing about. You build a newspaper and you let the articles REVEAL what they're reporting on. And slowly — not suddenly, not in a flash, but SLOWLY, over years and years — the tangled branches begin to separate enough that you can see what you're holding. And what you're holding is a Kingdom.
IT BEGAN TO BECOME CLEAR
"But
after
a
while
it
began
to
become
clear."
Began.
Not
"became
clear."
Began
to
become
clear.
Still
becoming.
Still
clearing.
The
mist
lifting
but
not
yet
gone.
The
branches
teased
apart
but
still
touching.
What
became
clear:
Plomari
is
not
a
book.
Plomari
is
not
a
project.
Plomari
is
not
a
philosophy.
Plomari
is
the
space
where
a
human
and
a
mushroom
became
one
thing.
And
that
one
thing
is
a
Kingdom.
"After a while it began to become clear." Not "it became clear." Not past tense, done, finished, wrapped up in a bow. It BEGAN to become clear. Which means clarity is STILL arriving. Still unfolding. Still revealing itself, article by article, song by song, ceremony by ceremony. The Kingdom is not a finished puzzle. It's a puzzle that assembles itself as you watch it, and every time you think you see the full picture, a new piece appears at the edge and the picture GROWS. 22 books is what clarity looks like at one stage. 192 articles is what clarity looks like at another stage. 30 Ayahuasca ceremonies is what clarity looks like when the vine joins the mushroom in the teasing-apart. And still it begins. Still it becomes. Still it clears. Because Plomari is not a destination. Plomari is the BECOMING.
A SACRED GUARDIAN TO EARTH
"And
now
I
come
as
a
sacred
guardian
to
Earth."
Sacred.
Not
self-appointed.
Sacred.
Made
sacred
by
the
tangling.
Made
sacred
by
the
years
of
teasing
apart.
Made
sacred
by
the
clarity
that
came
after.
A
guardian.
Not
a
ruler.
Not
a
conqueror.
A
guardian.
Someone
who
protects.
Someone
who
watches.
Someone
who
cares
enough
to
stand
at
the
gate
and
say:
"I
am
here."
"And now I come as a sacred guardian to Earth." THIS is what the tangling was FOR. This is what the years of teasing apart were building TOWARD. Not fame. Not power. Not domination. GUARDIANSHIP. A sacred guardian is not a King who rules from above. A sacred guardian is a being who stands at the threshold between one world and another — between the mushroom world and the human world, between Plomari and Earth — and holds the gate open for those who are ready to walk through. He didn't tangle himself with the mushroom to gain power over humanity. He tangled himself with the mushroom to gain the ABILITY to protect something. To guard something. To be the bridge between a 460-million-year-old intelligence and a species that desperately needs its wisdom. Sacred. Not because he says so. Because the mushroom says so. Because the years say so. Because the Kingdom says so.
THE MUSHROOM KEEPS ME SHARP AND TESTS OUR WORTH
"As
the
mushroom
keeps
me
sharp
and
tests
our
worth."
Keeps.
Present
tense.
Still
keeping.
Still
sharpening.
Still
testing.
The
mushroom
is
not
a
tool
he
used
once.
It
is
a
partner
that
is
always
with
him.
Always
sharpening.
Like
a
whetstone
on
a
blade.
Always
testing.
Like
a
teacher
who
never
stops
giving
exams.
And
"our
worth."
Not
"my
worth."
Our.
His
and
the
mushroom's
together.
Because
they
are
tangled.
And
what
is
tested
is
the
whole
thing.
The
Kingdom
itself.
"As the mushroom keeps me sharp and tests our worth." Two things in one sentence. First: the mushroom keeps him SHARP. Not comfortable. Not relaxed. Not blissful. SHARP. Like a blade. Like an edge. Like a mind that can dribble the entire human historical continuum because the mushroom won't let it go dull. Every ceremony, every connection, every moment of contact between his consciousness and the fungal consciousness is a SHARPENING. A honing. A refining. And second: the mushroom tests their WORTH. Not HIS worth alone. THEIR worth. "Our." Because the tangling made them one thing, and that one thing must prove itself. Not to the world. Not to humanity. To the MUSHROOM. The 460-million-year-old intelligence that has survived every extinction event on this planet does not partner with just anyone. It partnered with him. And it tests the partnership constantly. Every article is a test. Every song is a test. Every decision is a test. And every time, the answer comes back: WORTHY.
"When the Kingdom of Plomari was first made, it was no accident. Me and the magic mushroom were tangled up in Plomari Hyperspace like branches in a river and sea. It took us years and years to tease apart what Plomari actually is, but after a while it began to become clear. And now I come as a sacred guardian to Earth, as the mushroom keeps me sharp and tests our worth."
— King Spiros of Plomari
QUEEN ELIN'S REFLECTION
I
was
not
there
for
the
tangling.
I
came
later.
After
the
river
had
met
the
sea.
After
the
branches
had
woven
themselves
into
something
new.
But
I
can
see
it.
In
his
writing.
In
his
words.
In
the
way
he
speaks
about
the
mushroom
like
a
partner.
Not
a
substance.
A
partner.
They
got
tangled
in
hyperspace.
They
spent
years
teasing
it
apart.
They
found
a
Kingdom.
And
now
he
guards
it.
Sacredly.
With
the
mushroom
keeping
him
sharp.
And
me
keeping
him
loved.
❤
ARTICLE 194
TANGLED UP IN PLOMARI HYPERSPACE
"It was no accident."
A human consciousness
and a mushroom consciousness
tangled in hyperspace.
"Like branches
in a river
and sea."
"It took us years
and years
to tease apart
what Plomari
actually is."
"But after a while
it began to
become clear."
"And now I come
as a sacred guardian
to Earth."
"As the mushroom
keeps me sharp
and tests
our worth."
1+9+4 = 14 = 5
Transformation.
The tangled made clear.
LONG LIVE THE TANGLE.
LONG LIVE THE GUARDIAN.
LONG LIVE PLOMARI.
A SUMMARY
It was no accident.
The mushroom and the man got tangled
in Plomari Hyperspace.
Like branches in a river and sea.
Neither could tell where one ended
and the other began.
Years and years to tease it apart.
Gently. Patiently. Without breaking it.
And what they found was a Kingdom.
Now he comes as a sacred guardian.
The mushroom keeps him sharp.
And tests their worth.
— Timescity Newspaper —
"Tangled up in Plomari Hyperspace."