Covid & Hawthorns

About three months ago, give or take, I began talking to house plants.  This is new for me; caressing the patterned green leaves and asking them if they were happy.  Years ago, I affectionately observed my dearest college roommate addressing her plants by their given names- Good morning Miss Spiderly- but I didn't consider the possibility of real connection.  

Certainly, I've felt deep spiritual release in the great natural world- coastal trails in Northern California, Utah's unworldly arches and rock formations, the salty taste of ocean waves anywhere and everywhere.  But house plants alluded me.

For a thirty-something birthday, a friend with a green thumb gifted me a snake plant in a sweet vintage pot.  I set the plant in front of our bedroom window and tried not to over-water it.  Over time, she started to outgrow the painted pot.  Maybe she likes it here.  Hopeful, I purchased a hanging plant at the co-op, another at Menard's, and received two more as gifts.  I dug out pots of various sizes and materials, a bag of potting soil, and went to work.

As seasons and moons cycled through, my plants traveled through periods of contentedness, disarray (disgust? angst?), and pleasure.  I moved them around the house, trying to figure out where they were happiest.  I noticed that most of the plants liked to be right in the center of our craftsman bungalow, nestled underneath the paneled archway between the living room and the dining room.

Last night, I had a dream about house plants.  In the dream, my mother gave me a healthy leafy plant from her own collection.  At first, I put the plant in the kitchen but it quickly turned black and dry.  I moved the plant under the archway and- poof- the shriveled leaves transformed into fleshy green abundance.  

The dream reminded me of Hawthorn, an herbal ritual card I pulled in January with that same dear collage roommate.   The card invited me to consider: Are you connected to the place where you live?  Can your heart call it home?  Can you feel the gentle pulses of the earth?  It offered a ritual as well- to walk within my space and "identify the umbilicus- the physical and energetic center- of the space."  I have returned to this invitation often, but I never did the card true justice.  Yet, I think my plants and dreams have provided me with the answer.  

How interesting to consider this archway as the anchor, the umbilicus, the spirit of this place we live.  The archway functions as a threshold- it gives the idea of two spaces- a gathering area around a piano and a dining room with our table, the children's table, and a second hand record player.  Additionally, the archway has built-in bookshelves filled with music, travel books, and academic texts.  Most of our life occurs in these two spaces; perhaps our plants want to be there for it?  I think maybe our plants like company; we certainly benefit from theirs.

Homebound, the line between dreams and reality has become a bit blurred.  Days are running over into each other like watercolor strokes.  As my life becomes more contained, I am finding more connection in what has always been here. 

Pulling cards with poppysol