What Truly Nourishes Us – On Slime Molds and the Three Jewels

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Schritt für Schritt, während du die Stimmen hinter dir ließest, begannen die Sterne zu leuchten durch die Wolkendecke und da war eine neue Stimme, die du langsam als deine eigene erkanntest, die bei dir blieb, als du tiefer und tiefer gingst in die Welt, entschlossen, das Einzige zu tun, was du tun konntest – entschlossen, das einzige Leben zu retten, das du retten konntest.

– Mary Oliver –

There are living beings that have no nervous system, no brain, no language—and yet they make astonishingly clear decisions.

Slime molds are among these beings. More precisely, they are neither plant nor animal nor classic fungus, but something of their own. When they are foraging for food, they spread out, probe their environment, and respond to what truly serves them. If they find nutrients, they move purposefully toward them. If they find none, they withdraw.
They don’t waste energy on what doesn’t nourish them.
They don’t cling to imitations of food.
They don’t stay out of habit where there’s nothing to be found.

Wow!!

In experiments, it has been observed that slime molds can even find the shortest and most efficient path to a real food source. They learn from experience. They distinguish between what nourishes and what only looks like it does. And when conditions change, they change their behavior. Quietly and without drama.

When I read this, I wonder why it’s so hard for us humans to align ourselves with what truly nourishes?

We keep reaching for things we’ve long known don’t give us lasting fulfillment. Recognition, consumption, distraction, control. For a moment it might feel better—and shortly after, we’re restless again, empty, or searching for the next hold. We invest time, energy, and heart in something that doesn’t truly nourish us. And often we only notice when we’re exhausted.

In Buddhism, this mechanism is called attachment—the reflexive taking refuge in the impermanent. We seek security where it cannot be found. Not because we are “wrong” (we all do this), but because we’ve lost contact with what truly sustains us.

In this context, we can keep asking ourselves:

What nourishes—and what exhausts?
What sustains—and what merely distracts?
Where do I find support that isn’t fragile?

All the more supportive, I find the practice of taking refuge.

The Three Jewels—Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—are exactly that in Buddhism: an invitation to realign our attention. Away from what keeps leaving us empty, toward what allows clarity, compassion, and inner freedom to grow.

Buddha means Awakening

The word Buddha comes from budh—to awaken, to become awake.
The Buddha is not a god and not a distant ideal. He represents the possibility that exists in each of us (yes!! Really! In you too!! ❤️): the ability to see things clearly, as they are. Simple—but requires practice to step out of our habitual way of seeing, which is shaped by wanting and not-wanting and illusion.

Taking refuge in the Buddha means trusting that our patterns, our suffering (which is often very subtle, as if something here could still be better…) can be understood and transformed. When we keep engaging with this moment, raw and unfiltered, we see that we are not fixed to our patterns, our reactivity, or our history.

Taking refuge in the Buddha means pausing again and again and asking:
What would be an awake, loving response right now?

It is an invitation to nourish our own Buddha nature—that quiet intelligence that knows when something nourishes and when it doesn’t.

Dharma means Path and Reality

Dharma is often translated as the teaching of the Buddha. But Dharma is more than words or texts. Dharma is a path—and at the same time reality itself, as it reveals itself when we look closely.

Taking refuge in the Dharma means engaging with a practice that helps us understand and transform suffering. It means not just studying the teaching, but living it: in the breath, in the body, in relationships, in the midst of this world.

When we take refuge in the Dharma, we commit to examining again and again:
Does this practice really help me become freer?
Does it support compassion—for myself and for others?

The Dharma is like real food. It nourishes not through promises, but through experience. And as with slime molds, its truth is revealed by whether it truly strengthens us.

Sangha means Connection

The third jewel is the Sangha—the community of practitioners.
It is often understood as the community of monks and nuns, but Sangha is any form of community that supports awakening.

Taking refuge in the Sangha means acknowledging that we cannot walk this path alone. That we need each other—especially when our own clarity is weak, when we doubt or are tired.

The Sangha reminds us of our practice when we forget it. It holds us when we lose ourselves. And it shows us that awakening is nothing lofty, but something deeply human—with all our imperfections.

When we look deeper, Sangha can become even wider: the earth that supports us; the trees that give us oxygen; all the conditions that make our life possible. In this sense, Sangha is everywhere.

Taking refuge in the Sangha means experiencing ourselves as part of a greater whole. And taking responsibility for the quality of our relationships—because we are the Sangha.

Taking refuge where it makes sense

The Three Jewels are not abstract ideals. They are points of orientation.

They help us distinguish between what calms us in the short term and what frees us in the long term.
Perhaps taking refuge is exactly that: no longer investing energy in what leaves us empty—but turning toward what truly nourishes.

Like the slime molds.
Quietly. Honestly. And turned toward life.

As Ram Dass said: We all walk each other home.

You are not alone.
With love, Nirmala.