November is a precious time

There are twelve months of the year, and each month is a time of our lives. As a child, I dreaded November because it begins with a celebration(?) of sadness and hypocrisy. I was lucky with mushrooms in many ways, one of the many being that they showed me the value of November. All the photos in this post were taken in the eleventh month. I'm lucky that I've been used to walking since I was a child, and it's a pleasure for me to walk here and there on my two feet, watching and admiring the beauty that lies along the way. When I walk through the trees, I love to wade through the leaves and listen to the sound of the dry leaves. And of course it's also exciting to look for edible fruiting bodies, mushrooms, which I can take nice habitat photos of.

When the sun comes out, the yellow leaves turn the world into honey. It's dazzling. The fungi are working at full speed. Mycelium, wet leaves, especially walnut and poplar, have a good smell. And if there's an aniseed funnel Clitocybe odora somewhere in the undergrowth, the its smell will give it away. The second and third pictures were taken one after the other during a walk. The aniseed scent gave the mushrooms away. It was a beautiful day. I looked up from the ground to the sky and watched a plane fly overhead. My mother died in November 2019, but that didn't really interfere with my enjoyment of the world. In the face of eternal nothingness, everything is brilliant, and even dying is part of our lives with all its agony.

How aware are you of the meaning of nothing? I know very well what death is. Mushrooms are the decomposers of nature, when I walk among them I am also witnessing the passing away. I seldom write or talk about it, because as living people we are terrified of death. Oh, I'm not the least bit impressed by the fact of death. Or do you think it would be so much fun to exist forever and ever in the shape you're in now? Do you think the world will stop for you? It is death that allows life to take new and new forms. We are a tiny, living part of life. We complete our task and leave. From our materials, new living things are built. It's wonderful.The way everything changes every moment is a mirage. All our lives we wish for wonder, and we don't realize that life is wonder.

I look forward to wading in the open air again and taking a deep breath. I like to feel that I am alive. I'm oppressed by being stuck in the city, being around all those grumpy people. I like to fool around, laugh and dance. Although I can't dance and my humour is extremely complex, but my laughter is rolling and infectious. Every day is a celebration. That's why Christmas or any other "compulsory" holiday means nothing to me anymore. It seems contradictory that on the other hand I am bored to death with the life I am forced to live here. That my voice has no echo and I am dying alone. To avoid feeling my pain, I live countless lives in my imagination. There is good in every bad thing. Loneliness has taught me how to enrich my life. My plan for the next week is to continue my epic fantasy novel, put together the material for the Saturday lecture I'll be giving, read a contemporary novel and a non-fiction book. And I'm looking for a job in Europe, because I won't be in Hungary in 2023 and I plan never to return. I have returned three times. I have learned from my mistake. I have no business being here anymore.