What Rises from the Ground

itdoesnthave2b
Oct 7
2 min read

Updated: Oct 8

My sister spotted this mushroom pushing up through the neighborhood grass — spongey, veined, oddly familiar. No fanfare, no perfect symmetry, just an expression of life doing what it knows how to do: emerge.

It reminded me of the diagrams in anatomy books — the ones that show the penis stripped of its skin, its spongy bodies exposed. Those images are meant to educate, yet so often they make people recoil. Maybe because they feel so disconnected, just parts. But here is a different reminder: that our arousal is organic. Soft. Fungal, even. A pulsing tissue of cells that swells with life

The mushroom, like the human body, is mostly made up of vast, unseen networks that sense, communicate, and adapt long before we notice them. What appears above the surface is just a momentary bloom of something ancient and intricate happening below.

It’s easy to celebrate nature’s beauty when it comes in petals or symmetry. Harder when it’s raw and damp and reminds us of our own biology. But maybe that’s the invitation: to stop separating the erotic from the ecological. To see softness, even spongey-ness, as sacred design.

Because life — whether it grows from soil or skin — is never meant to be smooth or hard all the time. It’s meant to rise, release, and return.

Maybe the next time we see something rising awkwardly from the soil — a mushroom, a feeling, an erection, a beginning — we pause and remember: softness is not the opposite of strength. It’s how life learns to listen.