Chakra indeed, either they or myself are aural or sensory extensions of one another, or perhaps both. It's powerful stuff. I seriously feel the energy of the stick. Of course, these are "chosen" <strong>mushrooming </strong>sticks--sticks of high karma who serve a purpose beyond that of the ordinary clutter of the forest floor. They are not mere random sticks! Among the billions of counterparts that fall and turn to humus, these are the "select." You know what I', sayin'.... I suspect your sticks exude such force as well, for you have selected them. The mere intersection of the conscious (you) with the unconscious (the stick) creates a quasi-spiritual energy conducive to the purpose for which you selected that stick; in a very real sense you have imbued it with part of your consciousness, hence it attains chakra.
On the matter of the most productive stick, it pains me somewhat to answer; it's a long, thin hickory (with thumb-smoothed butt-end), and a long story. But it was broken last year during early season...
Having taken my daughter and her boyfriend out, I'd lent him the stick to use. Somewhat disengaged from the spiritual experience of the hunt, and excessively prone to using it for lopping off dandelions in the pasture en route the timber, I imparted the essential tutelage to the effect that "the stick was meaningful, important and must be respected." A reminder was necessary along the way, and adding "Don't break my stick, damn it."
Well, I might as well have been talking to a dead elm. Upon the occasion of our first productive tree he was manic. My daughter and I were finding and picking large grays by the dozens, but apparently his eyes hadn't adjusted to the vegetational nuances and contrasts of the forest floor deep in those woods. While flailing and thrashing about with the stick among mayflowers I heard a "CRACK" and "oops"...he had broken the stick about one foot up from the end!
I cursed and rushed toward him, grabbed the stick from his hand, bent to pick up the end, and exclaimed "I told you not to break my stick! DAMN!"
He apologized, meekly, looked down, clearly forlorn.
"Damn it, Tyler, sticks are important--and this was my best one! You need to listen and get serious and get with the program if you're going to hunt mushrooms with me. This really pissed me off."
"Uh, um, I'm really sorry man"
"Well, damn it, listen then!" Glancing and pointing down toward the area where I'd picked up the broken end of the stick, I commanded, "Now focus, dude. And pick those right there. Slow down and <em>look</em>!"
I took that stick home and repaired it with wood glue and three strips of duck tape--black, yellow, and red--for extra measure. It looks MEAN. It's seasoned. Battle tested. It's going to go the distance this year. I doubt it will go with me on the first outing though. It's more of a mid-to-late season stick.
Now that I think of it, maybe that was the problem: in my impulse I failed to listen to the stick last year and broke it out too early. Perhaps it broke itself in response to my failure to listen to it?
Hmmmm...these 'shrooming sticks acquire a mind and personality of their own.
