Letters from a Wandering Soul

Where Snow Hides the Forest, and Time Bleeds into Light — The Bleeding Mushroom Where Snow Hides the Forest, and Time Bleeds into Light The forest kneels under snow — a silence too heavy to break. Each flake is a century falling. Each root remembers. Between Finland and Norway, the air still smells of old resin, of storms that never ended, of trees that still breathe pain. Under that white skin, threads thinner than memory crawl. They are nerves of the forest — mycelium, drinking from bark, from wound, from light that froze before it died. They say it is just a fungus. But I have seen it rise — pale flesh trembling beneath a thousand winters. And on its skin, droplets gather, one by one, as if time itself were bleeding out through the cracks of silence. Not blood, not sap, not sorrow — something older. The color of a sun that never came back. The breath of a tree th...

Titan Arum — The Breath of a Corpse, The Pulse of Earth Titan Arum — The Breath of a Corpse, The Pulse of Earth Deep within the soaked jungles of Sumatra , where rain never ends and stones sweat beneath the roots, a creature of patience hides in the soil. Ten years. Sometimes twelve. Years that taste like silence, like waiting for pain to fade. Beneath the fallen leaves, it curls into the dark — a pulse, a slow remembering of light. And then, one dawn, the earth splits with a sound no ear can hold. Titan Arum pushes upward, its heavy stalk tearing through mud and memory, a red spear piercing the breath of morning. The air is thick with steam and ghosts. Rain slides down its skin like tears from another world. The jungle breathes with it. The flower opens — wide, trembling, three meters of fever and grief. Its scent spreads like a wound: the smell of rot, of forgotten flesh, of time t...

Chaga — The Black Star of Siberia 🔥 Chaga — The Black Star of Siberia 🔥 Twelve thousand years ago, when the ice was breaking its silence, Siberia was still a forest made of frost and exile. The wind cut like a blade traded for survival, and the daylight itself was swallowed whole by the storm. There was no spring — only the long white ache of time. And there, inside the trembling bark of a birch, a wound exhaled its frozen breath, and from that wound, fire was born. The ember took root — not red, but black. It grew in silence, drinking the cold. Through centuries that forgot to move, melanin crystals slept within the scar, clinging to the pale veins of the birch, wrapping it like skin remembering pain. That black star — Chaga — swallowed the starlight of millennia and never gave it back. Under the microscope, the world inside i...

Red-Blood Earth, White-Fungus Forest — The Heart of Madagascar Madagascar is not just a place. It is a wound that never healed. A piece of the African body torn away and thrown into the Indian Ocean, still pulsing, still breathing through stone. Once, this land was sea — coral bones and shell dust layered like sleeping memories. The ocean left, but its ribs remained, hardened into limestone, pale as forgotten moonlight. That bone is soil now. That soil still breathes. The ground glows in two colors — red and white. The red is rusted iron, the blood of time. The white is the memory of coral, fine as ground pearl, soft as ash after prayer. Together they shimmer, like the Earth’s own heartbeat caught in sunlight. When rain finally remembers this island, it falls like forgiveness. The hills bleed — iron turns to rust, rust to fire, fire to dust. Underneath,...

Peach Blossom Bamboo — Stone, Light, and a Seven-Day Bloom Limestone · Yunnan · 120-Year Cycle Peach Blossom Bamboo — Stone, Light, and a Seven-Day Bloom Limestone is the sea’s white memory. Coral and shells ground to bone-dust, lifted by wind, braided with mica, pressed into glittering earth. On this bright ruin a bamboo grows, its stem salted with silica—light caught in a vein. Stone remembers the sea; the bamboo remembers the stone. The ground is an old ocean, cooled into powder and shard. Wind carried the glitter; rain stitched it down. Mica winked, and the valley learned to keep its voice low. In that hush, a bamboo rose— not wood, not stone, but a trembling treaty between both. Daylight slid along ...

Sequoia — The Heart Forged by Earth’s Fire 🌲 Sequoia — The Heart Forged by Earth’s Fire When Earth was still young, the oceans boiled with red magma, and the sky smelled of sulfur and smoke. The continents—raw, iron-rich bones—clashed and bled, and from their collision rose the land of California, a crust of granite cooling from the lungs of fire, still trembling with the breath of molten stars. Touch the soil there— it breaks like powder between your fingers, and something cold, metallic slips through the skin. Boron, silica, sulfur, iron— each atom remembers a time when the sea was fire. Even now, beneath the roots, the earth keeps a fever. The soil hums faintly with the leftover warmth of stars. The sequoia drinks from that memory. Its roots descend through stone, seeking the ancient heat. Inside its cells, lignin coils tight— a glass-hard dream that ...

🌌 Wollemi — A Tree That Resembles Earth’s Extension of Life In the deep canyons of Australia’s Blue Mountains, in the shade where sunlight never quite reaches the floor, where rock and stone catch their breath under each other’s weight, there stands a tree that has crossed two hundred million years. From the age when dinosaurs breathed across Paleozoic seas, a life that never once changed the grammar of its genes — Wollemi. Its cells bear a genetic grain ten times steadier than ours. Slowly, quietly, upon the fissures of rock and stone, it survives a thousand years and another thousand, and on the surface of cells that seem to have solidified time, the scientists whisper: “This tree is a seed withdrawn from the bank of time.” 🧬 The Denial of Aging Hidden Inside Cellular Crystal Wollemi closes itself before death draws near. Its resin is a shield of life itself. Diterpene, shining like a transparent crystal, grows in thousands of ...

Socotra — Island of Blood and Mist | Dragon’s Blood Cycle Socotra — Island of Blood and Mist A cycle of poems for the tree that makes blood from stone: Dracaena cinnabari 🌗 Toggle Theme 📜 Jump to Contents Contents 1) Socotra — The Island of Blood and Mist 2) Dragon’s Blood — Where Stone Bleeds 3) The Tree That Bleeds — Red Breath Born from Stone Dragon’s Blood Tree of Socotra — ancient Dracaena cinnabari, red resin flowing over an umbrella crown in the desert wind. Dragon’s Blood Tree of Socotra — an ancient red-resin crown holding shade above the pale rock, like an upside-down umbrella of time. ...