The Mouse and the Mushroom

When I was younger, I would read picture books about Nature. I would pour intensely over every picture and drawing, fascinated with all the green plants and small animals that existed there. What a fantasy land! I’d never seen green in my life. None of it was left. All gone. I wanted to run and play in the speckled sunshine, and laugh with the babbling brook. I wanted to sit and let the little animals walk around me. But I knew I would never. This childhood dream was almost lost; just a wisp on the edge of my memory. I grew up through life, moving all through the City, from the US down, down, all the long long streets and concrete towers. There was always more of the City. It never ended. I lived next to the sea for a long long time, enthralled by its color and movement. I couldn’t stand the City, but I couldn’t escape. I had to keep moving to stay sane. I went south, always further south, until I hit a wall. A wall? There was no way through. What could be on the other side? What happened to the City? What could it be? Perplexed, I resolved to cross the wall and find out. I walked along the edge, until finally I found a crumbled, lower section. I scrambled up, over the loose concrete and jumped down on the other side. I rubbed my eyes. It couldn’t be! All around me, there was forest! Large green trees and plants and flowers and a stream! A stream!? I ran over, hardly believing this could be real.
Suddenly from the undergrowth, a squeaky high pitched voice called out,
“Silly human!”
I jumped, and searched for the source of that voice. My eyes led me down to the soft brown earth. A gray, silky mouse!
“A mouse?” Recognizing the small creature from one of the many, many books I read an innumerable number of times.
“Mice can’t talk!” I exclaimed, remembering that this world, full of forest, lived in silence
“Silly silly silly human! Everything can speak, you just have to listen.”
Confused, I muttered a humble “oh”, at a loss for words.
“Come with me, silly. I’m going to show you how to listen,” and with that the little creature darted off through the trees. I scrambled quickly up and over logs, under branches, eager to follow, and to listen.
The mouse stopped suddenly and turned to make sure I was behind.
“Shhhhhh! Silly human. Be quiet now. Not a peep!” it squeaked urgently.
I was out of breath from the walk, but I tried to be silent.
“Now listen, silly, listen, listen, to the chatter of the forest. Listen to the trees whisper their secrets regrets to the wind. Listen to the flowers plead with the sunlight for strength. Empty your mind and listen…Shhhh. Can you hear?”
I strained, held my breath, expectant. Nothing. No words, no sentences came forth.
“NO!” exclaimed the mouse, “Not like that, silly. You have to be open. Don’t search for the sounds, let them come to you. Here, sit against this mossy stump and listen. Listen, you silly human.”
I sat, shifted till I was comfortable, closed my eyes and waited. This time patiently, not sure what I would hear, if anything. I was starting to think the mouse was the silly one, not me. But there was nothing better for me to do, so I waited.
It came slowly, slowly. Beautiful sounds came to my ears. I’d never heard anything like it. The wind whished over the treetops, creating a beautiful wooden melody, the birds chattered excitedly, changing pitch, tone, and note as quick as their wings flapped. As soon as this door was opened, the sounds rushed in like a flood of water. I listened intently to the little woodland animals scurry and scuff around, sorting through the ground, searching for food. I heard the mommy’s kindly shushing their babies in the nests and burrows. But I couldn’t hear the flowers’ plea. For some reason this settled a deep melancholy in my heart. Why could I hear them? Why did the flowers not speak?
Sensing my change in mood, the mouse perked up its ear and whispered excitedly.
“Time to go, silly. Now you’re listening.”
“Shhhh, shhhhh silly human, don’t spoil it!” the mouse exclaimed when I tried to tell it that I wasn’t doing it right. I couldn’t hear the flowers.
And with that the small creature skittered off into the woods again. I ran to keep up with its tiny, rapid steps. Deeper and deeper into the forest we ran, till the sun overhead was almost completely consumed by the tall tree branches. The air was moister here, thicker. An eerie silence descended on the area, broken only by my heavy footsteps on the mossy ground.
“SILLY! Oh you silly silly human, stop making so much noise. Learn to walk softly!” the mouse muttered angrily
“Slow down!” I panted.
“No need, silly, we’re here.” The mouse stopped and sat firmly on its haunches, turning its beady black eyes up at me with a questioning look.
I looked around. Nothing seemed too spectacular about this location. I don’t know why we couldn’t have stopped minutes ago, I mused with just a tinge of frustration.
“You’re just so silly, I can’t stand it,” the mouse exasperated, “Look!” it twitched its tail to the base of a nearby tree, and I saw it.
A small red cap with lots of white dots poked out of the thick growth. Resembling a mouse-sized umbrella, I looked up, confused, at the small patch of blue sky peeking through the trees.
“It’s not going to rain….” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Shhhh, silly. Listen again. Open your ears. Sit, silly human, and listen.”
So I walked over to the tree with the strange red umbrella and sat down. The handle of the umbrella was white and soft-looking. I sat down next to it, looking closely, even more confused. It didn’t seem like an umbrella, but what else could it possibly be? The question was too big to understand, so I forgot it, letting my mind lapse into silence.
Eventually I heard the trees and the birds and critters, in their daily conversation. Listening, I was soon lost in their worries and trials, caught up in the drama here. Suddenly a calm, cool, feminine voice rose above the din.
“You can’t hear the flowers?” She questioned. I searched furtively for the voice, but could not locate it.
“No,” I breathed sadly, “I can’t”
“The mouse calls you silly because you have no knowledge of your own self. If you knew the depths of your own mind, you could hear the flowers’ subtle song. You could bring that song back with you to the City. You could bring the Forest into the City, and free yourself, free everyone.”
I peered quizzically down at the small red umbrella thing.
“Is that you?” I asked, “What are you?”
The voice sighed, a beautiful, poignant sigh, “I’m a mushroom.” She stated, as if that should be obvious. “You obviously have never heard of us. We used to sing to the humans before All The Evil. We tried to teach them; to tell them that the City was too much, too big, that they wouldn’t survive the way they were. But they had become deaf. They could no longer hear the talk of the forest.” She sighed again, this time with an infinite sadness.
“But you’re here now,” she said after a long pause, “and that’s good. You heard the song of the forest, even from the depths of the dark City. You listened. Now maybe you’ll listen again.”
With that she began to sing. I couldn’t distinguish the words, but the sound was so penetrating, so stunning.
It conjured up images of sparkling snow-capped mountains, of green flowering meadows, gurgling creeks full of rainbow fish. I saw bears and wolves and elk and rabbits.
Then the scene changed. I saw smoke stacks and cars and concrete replace the beautiful meadows. I saw people angry and yelling, unhappy.
I saw leaders spitting angrily in a myriad of dialects and languages. I saw headlines and newscasters predicting death and destruction. It was a spiral of devastation that threatened all of humanity. Spinning faster and faster, darker and darker.
Just when I thought this scene would surely end in explosion, it stopped.
The exquisite song and the distressing images evaporated.
I was back, sitting on the soft moss, next to the mushroom.
A tear involuntarily leaked from my eyes.
“How could we have done this?” I asked the mushroom
She was silent for a long time.
She seemed reluctant to tell me, to explain.
“It’s hard to say why” she stated at last, “It’s hard to tell you, because you are the reason. It is from inside of you that this evil comes. Inside of you and all humans on this earth. A predisposition to self destruction. I wish I could tell you how to overcome your nature, how to make this all ok. How to survive. But all I can tell you right now is that if you don’t act right now, you will no longer survive. Your species will extinct themselves. “
“You must go now,” she told me, “you must return to the City, and save us. Please help us. You must find it in your intelligence to convince your fellow humans to stop.”
“I will!” I exclaimed, feeling the thrill of destiny behind my words.
With that I ran off, back over the wall, to help save the mushroom.