Inside Ivy will change the way you look at plants and the world forever! The “Ivy” in question is a Philodendron or silver-leafed Arrow Head plant. We bought it in the mid 1970s to hang from the ceiling next to the kitchen table in the small dining room of our two-story townhouse on McAllister Street in San Francisco. Once the vines had reached the floor, it became necessary to sweep them aside to sit at the back of the table. We considered this a small price to pay because it looked so beautiful between the two corner windows near the front door. But, when the vines began to pile up on the floor and it was hard not to step on them, we knew it was time to find Ivy a new home.
On a dark and dreary Saturday morning in the middle of winter the moment of truth finally arrived. Our kids, Crystal and Evan, and my wife, Sandra, and I were just finishing breakfast when Sandra said she wanted to clean the dining room windows. To make it easier, I took the ivy down and set it in the middle of the kitchen table. The vines were so long they trailed down to the floor and beyond. I moved them enough so Sandra could get to the windows without stepping over them and looked at them in amazement. There were almost four feet of vines trailing across the floor. This is it, I thought; it’s time to find Ivy a new home.
My eyes followed the full length of the plant from the pot on the table to the end of the vines on the floor and beyond, until they stopped at the bottom of the stairs to the second floor. With a shock of recognition, I knew the stairwell would make the perfect home for Ivy. It would give her room to grow, and there was a skylight directly above the stairs!
Excited, I climbed several stairs to explore this idea further. Through my mind’s eye, I could see the plant’s green and white leaves against the white background of the wall, as they cascaded down the stairwell. I watched them as they grew all the way down the handrail, and yes, even down to the floor below. Oh well, I thought, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now there’s only one question left: will Ivy fit safely on the ledge at the top of the stairwell? Grabbing my tape measure, I hurried upstairs to see. Wow, talk about magic, the ledge was exactly the same width as the base of the plant pot, six inches! Clearly, the stairwell under the skylight was the perfect spot!
After Ivy’s big move, I developed a new and interesting habit. Every time I climbed the stairs to go to bed at night, I always paused to admire the plant’s beautiful leaves as they cascaded down the wall. In the hallway above the stairs, I’d rest my elbows on the ledge and lower my face close enough to feel Ivy’s aura (energy field) with my own. Telepathically, I’d say, Hi, how are you tonight? Then I’d wait for a surge of energy to come back in return. When it did, I accepted it as the plant’s way of saying “Hello.” After basking in the glow of our energy for a few seconds, I finished up with, Well, good night, I’ve got to go to bed now. See you in the morning!
I performed this ritual every night for several months, until one night something different happened. This time, when I leaned over to say hello, I noticed Ivy’s energy field was much stronger than usual. After my usual greeting, I blissfully bathed in the more intense tingly feeling, while at the same time wondering why it was so strong. With no recognizable answer to my vague question, I shrugged and prepared to say goodnight. Suddenly, it was if a barrier let go and my consciousness poured from my body and down into the plant, like milk from a pitcher. More than just falling, it felt like I was being drawn into the plant. When the falling sensation stopped, I sat up to assess my situation. Where was I? How did I get so small? Astounded, I could see I was in the middle of a tiny rootlet in the ivy plant, a small hair-like structure that grew off one of the main roots.
Even more astounded, I realized I was sharing my thoughts and feelings with another consciousness. The rootlet and I were in direct communication with each other! We were sharing our thoughts and feelings directly as if we were both one and separate. There was no language barrier. When I wondered something about the plant, I saw and lived the answer. For example, when I wondered where I was, I saw myself inside a small rootlet of the plant as if I was both inside and outside the rootlet, which gave me a more meaningful perspective. Not only could I be inside the rootlet under the soil, I could also be above the soil and see the plant’s vines as they rose up and over the edge of the pot to spill down into the stairwell. Observing the plant in its entirety, I perceived it as a gigantic living, interactive structure. It was a vast community of souls, each individual, yet connected to, and dependent upon every other part of the plant. The root system and the leafy vines above the soil worked together as one. When I wondered what Ivy’s purpose was, I received the answer, “To express beauty and grace in the world.” Wow, isn’t that amazing and so true, I thought? Don’t most plants express beauty and grace in the world, as well as other values? How often do we stand transfixed by the beauty of a flower or the colors of a leaf? How often do we feel the need to stop and smell the roses?
I could even look beyond the plant pot and see the rooms around the stairwell. Bemused, I watched and listened as my wife and children prepared for bed. While it appeared to them that I was leaning over the plant in meditation, using my elbows to support me, the real me was watching them from inside the plant pot with delight. For a moment, I considered returning to my body but the thought paled in comparison to the excitement of exploring my new surroundings. It was clear to me that the plant was aware of everything that went on in the house, including our whereabouts and changing emotional states. Suddenly, the thought struck me that, as “keepers” of the plant, we were literally extensions of it. Since it was fully dependent on us for survival, could fear, and possibly resentment, be hiding behind our relationship? After all, any failure on our part to provide it with food and water could result in great suffering and even death.
Disturbed by the seriousness of my role in the well-being of the plant, I couldn’t help but recall past experiences when my care of plants was far less than ideal. Uncomfortable with my feelings of guilt and irresponsibility, my mind sought relief by heading in a new direction. Using the power of my thoughts and the basic matter of the rootlet, I began to create the control console of a highly advanced star ship. It had a large round screen that contained images of several star systems along with control symbols above. Excited with my new Star Ship and role as Captain, I created a handsome white uniform to complete the picture.
Even though the Star Ship was a creation of my unfettered imagination, I knew I could fly it anywhere throughout time and space. I also knew I had the power to deal with whatever obstacles I encountered or created along the way. Quite a fantasy, huh? With the push of a button, the control panel came to life and I began to understand, or remember, how to use its amazing technology. My imagination filled with thoughts and images of far-off places and wild adventures. It was then, I decided that my featureless white uniform was just too plain for a Star Ship Captain, or dare I say, Master of the Universe. With this grand thought, I looked down to see fancy gold buttons appear and disappear on my uniform until they looked just right. What’s a uniform without epaulets and gold braid? Looking down at my left shoulder, there it was, gold braid and all. Suddenly, the memory of my rude departure came to mind. Embarrassed, I returned to the reality of my new-found friend. As fit his character, he was still there, patiently awaiting my return.
I began to wonder about the nature of the rootlet’s reality, and immediately began to experience it! As if becoming one with the spirit and intent of the rootlet, I began to slowly and relentlessly move aside grains of sand as we grew in search of food and moisture to feed the plant. Not only did we look for pockets of the most important nutrients, using both logic and intuition, we looked for the most efficient pathway to reach them.
Growing impatient with this slow pace of learning, I switched to my intuitive sense to speed things up. Like looking at a magic video of the rootlet’s life experience, I could review its growth history from past to future, as fast or as slow as I wanted. I experienced varying levels of light and dark as night turned into day and back again, and as the height and depth of our growing varied. The rootlet exercised awareness and intent similar to my own.
As we worked together, I became acutely aware of its normal emotional state. From within its being, I could feel the profound sense of love, honesty, and joy it exuded as it went about fulfilling its unique role in the life of the plant. It was consciously aware that its being was unique and important to that life. It didn’t question its value or role, and it wasted no time comparing itself to others. It simply rejoiced in its own being, the being of the plant, and all life.
Astounded by the awareness and intelligence of this “speaker” for the plant, I stopped to review our relationship to see how it could have resulted in this amazing breakthrough. What allowed the barriers between us to fall so we could share our unique, individualized energy? Was the love we felt for each other, plant and man, so strong it enabled us to drop the pretense of separation required for biological expression? As I ponder this question, I know the answer is yes and I feel blessed beyond compare!
Before leaving the plant and my host, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. My host was so open, loving, and wise, it was hard to believe. Who knew? Easily slipping back into my human body, it was my turn to prepare for bed.
When at last I took the time to look into the heart of a flower it opened up a whole new world – a world where every country walk would be an adventure, where every garden would become an enchanted one. ~ Princess Grace of Monaco
© Copyright 1998, Roger “Pete” Peterson
For more on plant consciousness, read the The Secret Life of Plants, a 1973 book, written by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird.
Pete – https://realtalkworld.com
“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having (creating) a human experience.” – Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
“How you define yourself and the world around you, forms your intent, which, in turn, forms your reality.” – Seth
In other words, we create reality from what we choose to believe about ourselves and All That Is.
If we don’t consciously choose our beliefs, we unconsciously absorb them from our surroundings.
If our beliefs, attitudes, values and expectations create reality, can we afford not to question them?
The more we love, understand and appreciate ourselves, the better we treat each other and the world.
The secrets of the universe lie hidden in the shadows of our experience. Look for them!
Affirm the ideas that work best and make you happiest!