Note: Generally, the names of plants are not capitalized unless they contain a proper noun—think English ivy—but I’ve capitalized the names of plants here because anything that can teach us as much as a plant does deserves a capital letter. Maybe even more than we do some days…
My friend, Ali, gave me a Begonia start a while back. It sat in a water glass on the window sill until it had put out enough roots to be ready to plant. That it can do that, get cut from its mother plant, plunked into some water, and have the wisdom and wherewithal to put out new roots so that it can flourish is enough to brighten my darkest of days. Its ability to sustain itself shines a bit of light on the path of possibility for us humans. Use what’s available now to ready ourselves for what is to come. Put out roots here so that we might be able to flourish there. As it sat on the window sill, growing new roots, life wasn’t perfect around it. It sat on the sill as the good, the bad, and the occasionally ugliness of real life with real humans living in a flawed world went on around it. And still, it flourished. It readied its present self to grow into its future self.
It’s long since moved from a glass of water on a window sill to a pot on a brushed gold plant stand next to a huge picture window. Along with a Prayer Plant and a Fiddle Leaf Fig, it’s part of a plant community, all of whom are transplants from elsewhere. Immigrants from another place, hoping to flourish in their new home, just like the rest of us. They quietly bring joy and comfort to our life, and we are the better for them. They do so without asking for much. Just that I remember to water them, and fertilize them occasionally. And so far, so good, which is saying a lot for a girl like me.
I watered them all a couple of days ago. It’s kind of a community thing, where water for one means water for all, each according to their needs. If only one got water, eventually the other two would wither up and die, leaving the other one alone. Which feels quite prescient to me, given the fact that social isolation poses a significant risk to our health, and nearly 1 in 10 people do not have access to clean water. Setting the Begonia back in front of the window, I rotated it so that the top leaves were faced away from the window, curious to see how it would respond to the lack of light on the surface of those leaves. The top leaves of a plant generally receive and need more light as they are the workhorses that drive photosynthesis and energy production. Long story short, if the top leaves receive adequate light everybody, including us humans, wins. In less than 2 days, the top leaves of that Begonia have turned towards the window. They’ve done an about face towards the light necessary for them to not only survive, but thrive. That it can do that, have the wisdom and wherewithal to find its way back to the light is enough to brighten my darkest of days.
What might it look like for me/you/us/them to have the wisdom and wherewithal to turn towards the light, and be willing to do it over and over and over again, no matter how many times we find ourselves in the dark? I have a hunch that turning towards the light means turning away from our screens and towards each other. Given the times we’re in, I think it’s as simple as that and as hard as it gets.
