Molly Kugel

My relationship with plants is really one of survival.  Being vegan, I cannot live without them, but then realistically none of us can.  Plants sustain the environment for all of us in so many ways.  To think specifically of my poems in this issue, I’m considering the way plants intersect with mourning, literally and figuratively.  Plants offer us a place to literally, physically connect with the natural world and ourselves. They also offer a form of solace. Recently, I watched the documentary From Stress to Happiness (2020) directed by Alejandro De Grazia and Juan Maria Stadler.  During the film, De Grazia struggles to find answers about his stress and unhappiness. He speaks with one of the most recognized masters of Tibetan Buddhism, Matthieu Ricard. Ricard discusses the way the beauty in natural settings can create feelings of “awe” in human beings. Spending time in forests and hiking can have this effect, and this effect can help human beings to better receive life and what awaits us. The awe that we feel can sustain us and better prepare us for the demands of modern life, including our suffering, including our mourning.  I’m simplifying here, but this clarity of mind facilitated by nature can ground us, center us, ready us to do the kind of work that Ricard posits is the point of life, ensuring that others, all beings, are without suffering or working toward their peace, freedom, and happiness. So, besides the actual “terpenes” or aromatic compounds that can heal us when we walk a forest in a practice called forest bathing, this awe can heal us and transform us as well. The groundcover of plants steadies our steps upon the earth, but plants also hold us after we die, during our return to the earth.  They are a reminder of the cyclical nature of the world, but they also contribute to the sacred, caring for our bodies once we leave the world.