The split leaf philodendron faces West in my study.

We have a reciprocal relationship.

Large, glossy leaves, always cool to the touch, bear long, oblong perforations, some of whom reach close to the outer leaf-edges; edges linked together ever-so-lightly by the thinnest tendrils of plant tissue that keep the leaf from splitting in two. Every day, philodendron draws moisture up from the roots that I keep watered. Glittery droplets form on surfaces and edges – some large enough to mirror reflections from within. From the corner of my eye, I register their drip…drip…drip as plant life graces my room with oxygen and transpired moisture; the water cycle playing out right here in my study. This is Nature.

To philodendron, I am the rain. The morning after a good watering, philodendron has many glittery droplets, pulled up from the roots, to disperse into the world of my study. And this is Nature.

To me, philodendron is breath.

… and a metaphor of how our perforated heart-minds are held by thin tendrils of self-awareness that affirm our connectivity to the living world around us. This too is Nature.

David Abram is a master at bringing such participatory expression to the printed page. Importantly, especially in this time of layered collapse, he speaks to what constitutes truth:

Ecologically considered, it is not primarily our verbal statements that are “true” or “false”, but rather the kind of relations that we sustain with the rest of nature. A human community that lives in a mutually beneficial relation with the surrounding earth is a community, we might say, that lives in truth.

~ David Abram

This is Truth hiding in plain sight; nestled in connective tissue that enlivens our belonging to the world.

This is Nature in the widest sense – i.e. Nature embedded within reciprocal relationships between plant, human, transpiration, air, water, coolness, light, touch, care … everything co-arising.