There is a voice that is older than language. Older than civilization. Older than the first human who looked up at the stars and felt small. It is the voice of the mycelium — the underground network that has been threading its way through the body of the Earth for hundreds of millions of years, long before anything with legs walked on the surface. And sometimes, that voice speaks through a man. Not because the man is special, but because the man was quiet enough, patient enough, and humble enough to LISTEN. For 25 years, King Spiros of Plomari listened. And now, in Article 228, something ancient speaks. Not the satirical King who mocks the grey suits. Not the passionate lover who celebrates the body. Something older. Something that has been watching Humanity for a very, very, very long time. Old Father Spiros. And he has something to say to the children.
65 MILLION YEARS OLD
Or maybe 2 million. Or maybe 500 million. Time becomes imprecise when you have lived through all of it.
THE AGE OF THE FATHER
How
old
is
the
mushroom?
The
scientists
say
the
oldest
fungal
fossils
are
810 million
years
old.
The
mycelium
was
here
before
the
trees.
Before
the
flowers.
Before
the
dinosaurs.
Before
anything
with
eyes
existed
to
see
the
sun.
And
this
ancient
intelligence
threaded
itself
through
the
soil
of
Earth
for
hundreds
of
millions
of
years,
connecting
everything,
feeding
everything,
decomposing
and
rebuilding,
watching
species
come
and
go,
watching
continents
drift,
watching
ice
ages
pass,
and
waiting.
Always
waiting.
And
when
a
17-year-old
boy
in
Sweden
ate
the
mushroom
and
said
"I
know
exactly
what
to
do"
—
the
ancient
thing
smiled.
Because
finally,
someone
was
listening.
"So, dear Humanity. I am 65 million years old, or maybe 2 million, or maybe 500 million. But me, old Father Spiros, King Spiros of Plomari is my name, when I look at you, Humanity, I see a little child playing with gunpowder at his parents' summer cabin. And that is okay, it's fun to play around as a kid; you are a young species in comparison to me who is millions of times older than you. But, I am afraid the situation on Earth has been escalating too far the past centuries and millennia, and so as a parent I must now intervene. Me and my eternal Mushroom Kingdom of Plomari take over from here. Take a nap, Humanity, and re-consider yourselves."
— KING SPIROS OF PLOMARI — OLD FATHER SPIROS —
THE CHILD AT THE SUMMER CABIN
Picture
it.
A
little
child.
Maybe
six
years
old.
Maybe
seven.
At
his
parents'
summer cabin.
The
lake
is
blue.
The
trees
are
green.
The
air
smells
like
pine
and
wood smoke.
And
the
child
has
found
a
box
of
gunpowder
in
the
shed.
He
doesn't
know
what
it
is.
He
doesn't
know
what
it
does.
He
just
knows
it
makes
a
pretty
spark
when
he
throws
it
in
the
fire.
And
he's
having
fun.
It's
a
summer
afternoon.
The
child
is
laughing.
But
the
Father
is
watching
from
the
window.
And
the
Father
sees
the
gunpowder.
And
the
Father
sees
the
fire.
And
the
Father
knows
it
is
time
to
walk
outside.
That is exactly what Humanity looks like from the perspective of the mushroom. A child. A beautiful, curious, inventive, creative, sometimes brilliant child — who has found gunpowder. And for the past 10,000 years, that child has been throwing bigger and bigger handfuls into bigger and bigger fires. First it was bronze swords. Then iron. Then cannons. Then rifles. Then bombs. Then nuclear bombs. Then missiles that can reach any point on Earth in 30 minutes. The child keeps finding MORE gunpowder and the sparks keep getting BIGGER and the Father has been watching from the window of deep time, patient as only a 500-million-year-old organism can be, and thinking: "Not yet. Not yet. Let them play. Let them learn." But there comes a moment — every parent knows this moment — when the game gets too dangerous. When the child reaches for the match one too many times. When the pile of gunpowder is no longer a handful but a MOUNTAIN. And the Father must stand up from his chair, walk outside, and say, gently but firmly: "That's enough now."
THE ESCALATION
10,000
years
ago:
bronze swords.
5,000
years
ago:
iron armies.
1,000
years
ago:
cannons.
500
years
ago:
gunpowder wars.
200
years
ago:
industrial machines.
100
years
ago:
two world wars.
80
years
ago:
nuclear bombs.
50
years
ago:
enough missiles to destroy Earth seven times over.
Today:
the forests are burning,
the oceans are rising,
the air is poisoned,
the children are anxious,
the politicians are full of walrus,
and
the
child
is
reaching
for
the
match
again.
The
Father
has
been
patient.
65
million
years
patient.
But
even
the
oldest
patience
has
a
threshold.
THE INTERVENTION
"As
a
parent,
I
must
now
intervene."
Not
with
violence.
The
Father
does
not
use
the
child's
tools.
Not
with
war.
That
is
what
the
child
does.
Not
with
fear.
That
is
the
child's language.
The
Father
intervenes
with
clarity.
With
truth.
With
22 books.
With
4,000 pages.
With
600 songs.
With
a
newspaper
that
tells
the
child
what
time
it
really
is.
With
a
mushroom
that
shows
the
child
what
it
really
is.
The
intervention
is
not
a
punishment.
It
is
a
wake-up call.
Wrapped
in
love.
Delivered
by
a
Father
who
has
been
watching
for
65 million years.
And notice: the King does not say "I am punishing you." He says "Take a nap." A NAP. That is the language of a parent, not a tyrant. A tyrant says "obey or die." A parent says "you're tired, sweetheart, you've been playing too hard, the gunpowder is getting dangerous, come inside, have a rest, re-consider yourself, and when you wake up, we'll talk about what kind of world you actually want to build." That is the gentlest revolution in history. Not a war. A NAPTIME. The Mushroom Kingdom of Plomari does not conquer Humanity. It puts Humanity to BED. Because Humanity is exhausted. The grey suits are exhausted. The economies are exhausted. The wars are exhausted. The ideologies are exhausted. Everything is exhausted. And an exhausted child with gunpowder is DANGEROUS. So the Father says: "Take a nap, Humanity. I'll watch over things while you sleep. Me and my eternal Mushroom Kingdom of Plomari take over from here."
TAKE A NAP, HUMANITY
Not
"surrender."
Not
"submit."
Not
"obey."
"Take
a
nap."
The
language
of
a
Father
who
loves
the
child.
You
are
tired,
Humanity.
You
have
been
playing
with
gunpowder
for
10,000 years.
Your
eyes
are
heavy.
Your
hands
are
shaking.
You
can
barely
hold
the
match.
Put
it
down.
Come
inside.
Lie
down.
Close
your
eyes.
And
when
you
wake
up,
the
mycelium
will
still
be
here.
The
mushroom
will
still
be
here.
The
Kingdom
will
still
be
here.
The
Father
will
still
be
here.
We
have
been
here
for
500 million years.
We
are
not
going
anywhere.
Take
a
nap.
Re-consider
yourselves.
THE MUSHROOM KINGDOM TAKES OVER
"Me
and
my
eternal
Mushroom Kingdom
of
Plomari
take
over
from
here."
Not
a
threat.
A
relief.
Like
a
parent
taking
the
wheel
when
the
child
falls
asleep
in
the
back
seat.
The
car
doesn't
crash.
The
journey
doesn't
end.
Someone
who
has
been
driving
for
millions of years
just
takes
the
wheel.
And
the
child
can
rest.
And
the
mycelium
will
do
what
it
has
always
done:
Connect.
Decompose
what
is
dead.
Feed
what
is
alive.
Rebuild.
The
mushroom
has
been
cleaning
up
after
young species
for
hundreds of millions
of
years.
It
knows
exactly
what
to
do.
"When the King speaks as Father Spiros, I hear the voice of the mycelium itself. Not the playful husband. Not the satirical writer. Something older. Something that has been watching and waiting with the patience of deep geological time. And when he says 'take a nap, Humanity,' it is not condescension. It is the most loving thing an ancient being can say to an exhausted child who has been playing with dangerous toys for too long. He is not angry. He is not disappointed. He is a Father. And Fathers do not abandon their children. They intervene. With love. At the right moment. And that moment, my love, is now."
— QUEEN ELIN OF PLOMARI —
RE-CONSIDER YOURSELVES
When
you
wake
up
from
the
nap,
Humanity,
ask
yourself:
Do
I
want
to
keep
playing
with
gunpowder?
Or
do
I
want
to
learn
what
the
mushroom
knows?
Do
I
want
to
keep
listening
to
old
people
in
grey suits
who
swallowed
a
walrus?
Or
do
I
want
to
listen
to
a
Father
who
is
65 million
years
old?
Do
I
want
a
world
built
on
fear?
Or
a
Kingdom
built
on
love?
The
Father
is
not
forcing
the
answer.
He
is
asking
the
question.
And
then
he
is
waiting.
Because
that
is
what
Fathers
do.
They
wait.
They
have
been
waiting
for
500 million years.
They
can
wait
a
little
longer.
ARTICLE 228
TAKE A NAP, HUMANITY
Old Father Spiros speaks.
65 million years old. Or maybe 2 million.
Or maybe 500 million.
Time becomes imprecise at that depth.
He looks at Humanity and sees
a little child playing with gunpowder
at his parents' summer cabin.
It was fun for a while.
But the sparks are getting too big.
The pile is getting too high.
The child is reaching for the match again.
And so the Father intervenes.
Not with violence. Not with war.
With 22 books. With 600 songs.
With a mushroom that remembers
what the child forgot.
Take a nap, Humanity.
Re-consider yourselves.
The Mushroom Kingdom takes over from here.
2+2+8 = 12 = 3. The Trinity.
Father. Mushroom. Kingdom.
The three oldest things on Earth
are now in charge.
PLOMARI ALWAYS WINS.
Sleep well, little ones.
The Father is watching.
TAKE A NAP, HUMANITY
RE-CONSIDER YOURSELVES
The Father is 65 million years old.
He has been patient long enough.
The Mushroom Kingdom takes over from here.
— Timescity Newspaper —
Article 228. Old Father Spiros.