"The Last Warning Before Things Turn Inhospitably Toxic..."

A few months ago I bought a bottle of "Cranberry Cordyceps Tea" at my local organic market, mostly out of dread and awe because I'd recently seen this nasty little clip from the show Planet Earth:

The bottle, needless to say, is still sitting in my fridge with its seal intact. I'm convinced it's a trap, that there are human fungus-slaves out there in Vermont intent on spreading their precious parasite overlord to the masses like the pod-people in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

The gorgeous paintings of Nicole Duennebier have a similarly deceptive allure, despite the fact that they are not sweetened with organic cranberry juice. Life-forms seem to blur together, creating one oozing, sumptuous biomass after another. When I first looked at them I admired their decadent, overripe quality, but it wasn't until I read her statement that I fully appreciated what I was seeing. It turns out that Duennebier has been quite inspired by the cordyceps fungus too, and striving to capture the malignant essence of their fruiting bodies in her creations:

"I think of the masses in my paintings as fruiting bodies, malignant growths that take on a lavish formation. They are not lying still but are very slowly expanding out across the terrain, usurping surrounding materials. These figures become garish amalgamations of color and texture. Similar to the forest still-lifes of the 1600's there is the sense of malevolence connected to the living things that move along the forest floor. But this malevolence derives from the uneasy combination of textural pleasure and disgust. Within the delicacy of the masses there is the indication of 'festering' in the form of sodden underbellies and noxious fumes that rise into the air."

Looking at her work, I couldn't help thinking of the way the suit of Cups is illustrated in Crowley's Thoth deck -- the aquatic scenes that initially radiate purity and luxury, but gradually degrade into festering pools of muck. The Eight of Cups shows us an emotional environment approaching a state of terminal stagnation. In fact, it's the last warning before things turn inhospitably toxic. The Waite deck shows a person beating a hasty retreat, presumably striking out in search of clear and nourishing waters. He is sadder, perhaps but wiser -- the glory of the Nine indicates that a valuable lesson has been learned.

This is a complicated card to draw in terms of any relationship. Sometimes a person just needs to face facts and accept that it's time to move on; on the other hand, sometimes you just need to back off long enough for the environment to heal itself from the muddled mess you helped make. You should be able to assess the situation based on other cards in your reading, but either way it's crucial that you put some distance between yourself and this cesspool. Right away.

One of my favorite details in the Planet Earth video is how the healthy ants can tell when one of their own has become contaminated with cordyceps, and to safeguard the survival of their colony they pick up the body of their fallen mate and chuck it as far as possible from the nest. During times when I seem to be determined to make a bad situation even worse, I always make an effort to chuck myself clear before I totally lose my senses and do something unreasonable; sometimes I walk away for good, sometimes it's just a time-out. ("Oh, hey guys, it's me again! Turns out I don't have the deadly brain fungus after all, I was just really grumpy.") The ability to do this has been one of the most valuable tools of self-preservation at my disposal. My challenge to you, via the Eight of Cups, is to recognize the malignancy you're harboring -- however deliciously cranberry-flavored it may be -- and do something about it before it gets the best of you. [Via]

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Eight of Cups