No, I will not own Hades

No longer am I on hiatus from this so called “blog.” My summer was spent as a quasi-employed-semi-hermit. One friend suggested that my pause in writing (this blog and anything else) was due to overload and that my summer was the necessary break from it. Another friend suggested that I am simply a loser. So be it. If I am designed to be a loser in this game of life, I’ll at least ramble about stuff that I want to ramble about and possibly mock people in the process.

Actually that might mean old people are losers.

Today I think I’m just going to ramble about plants. Sort of. I’ve spent the past few days debating different topics, thinking about different things, and basically just putting off actually writing something. So, plants it is.

My little room is bursting with non-animal life. Human residents here are outnumbered five to one by houseplants. Though technically one is not a houseplant. Of the five, the largest is a vine. Morbidly, perhaps, it is a plant given to our family because of my grandmother’s death. My mom is incapable of raising houseplants. Because of this I do two things. 1) I mock her incessantly about it, which she enjoys because she knows it’s true, and 2) I take care of it and spend time with it. Which is another way of saying it is mine. Yes, this is one of the reasons I think a lot of parents are not actually parents to their child(ren). Luckily, a lot of teachers DO act as parents to not-their-children.

I can’t legitimately claim to own my plants. Yes, there is a legal state of ownership (although legal ownership of plants? I’m sure it exists, but I’m too lazy to do the 75 second Wikipedia search it would take to find out). But what I’m saying is that I cannot actuallyclaim/chain them to me. For me, the debate begins in a physical sense. These particular plants did not sprout from my body, nor do they owe their existence to my actions in any way that is real(ly) remarkable. Yes, I do care for/about them, but my care only aids their existence — it does not determine it. If I were to say that these plants are mine, in anything but the legal sense (which is weird anyways), I would have to make a kind of leap.

One such leap would be to say that they are physically mine. This doesn’t hold water for the reasons I gave above (Note: if a fern is sprouting through your chest, perhaps you own it). Yet these plants are mine! Intuition is screaming this. Loudly! So here’s my solution. I’m going to say that my “ownership” of the plants is a terrible way to state the relationship we have. Yes, I said relationship. Plants are people too.

Consider it symbiosis plus a (sometimes rare) human tendancy to note what it sacred. Filling a room with green stuff that doesn’t seem to move seems like a strange way to have an experience of the presence of God, but… well… I don’t care if it seems strange. Each plant is a weirdo in it’s own way. The vine I babbled about earlier is huge. I’ve actually yet to see a larger vine of it’s species (this is likely also related to my lazy decision not to check Wikipedia).

Also, all you literary folk know that eating pomegranate is a surefire way to get yourself stuck in Hades. Basically I’m wondering what the punishment is for growing pomegranates. Because I’m doing exactly that. Currently I have fourteen sprouts, all between 1 and 3 inches tall. It’s fun!

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