The Light

I am jealous of a plant. Yes, you read right...a plant. I don't know what kind of plant it is. I got it at IKEA about a year ago. I am usually not the greatest at taking care of plants, but I have been doing really well this time around. I notice things about my plant like new growth and it actually gets a little limp when it is thirsty. Taking care of this one plant has brought me some interesting metaphors worth pondering.

The plant is perched upon a t.v. stand that sits in the corner of room, where two sliding glass doors meet. The sunlight is perfect for a healthy plant. Without fail, everyday, when I come home from work, the plant is leaning toward the light. Now I am sure there is some biological explanation for this. I don't remember what it is, and frankly, no matter what the reason, I am still amazed by it. The plant lives on and craves the light to such a degree that it faithfully grows in its direction. It doesn't have to think about what direction to head in, it doesn't have to theorize, theologize, systemetize, or philosophize its own existence. It just exists. It doesn't ask if the light is real or if there is more than one way to get to the light. It doesn't get into arguments with other plants about which light to lean towards, and it certainly doesn't assume that the light shines brighter on it than it does on other plants. (Granted, its needs are partially provided by me, but that is because it is a house plant. It should depend on me to provide some of its needs. Thankfully I am keeping my end of the bargain!)

Even though I am envious of this seemingly trusting, carefree existence of a plant, it does seem to be taunting me. I would love to close my eyes, have my soul watered, and faithfully lean to a light that mercifully brings its warm rays every morning and then retreats just in enough time to let me rest every evening. If only, IF ONLY I COULD BE A DAMN PLANT.