Plants experience from Cristina Popov: a Bamboo and the return in her heart



Today we want to present an article of one of our collaborators, Cristina Popov, her plants experience with Bamboo M.


Invisible Ties: The Robin Hood Tree, a Bamboo and the return in my heart

I’ve connected my Bamboo to my Pilea peperomiodes, the most talkative and joyful plant in my living room, as I am starting to write this text. I am going to share my experience with it, with the hope that whoever it may read this text, would find a little bit of encouragement and inspiration.


The first notes 

When I received my Bamboo two months ago, I invited all the plants in turns to sing.  Ana, my nine-year-old daughter, said, with eyes wide open, that was magic. I thought that, too. We moved from plant to plant with enthusiasm and listened to them. My money plant was the most vocal, and somehow, it became our favorite. We did it several times, and it took shape as our ritual: check the plants to see if they are happy or need anything, take Bamboo out of the box, turn it on, select the profile, and adjust the volume. And then sat on the couch, eyes closed, listening or just talking.

But then we forgot. Our ritual slipped out of our lives as smoothly as it entered. What happened? One might ask. Life happened.


Sometimes, I must forget in order to remember

After several months of peace, rhythm, and serenity, I was again caught in a series of work and personal events that drained me. The worst part is not that they took away my time and energy, but that I forgot things I thought I wouldn’t.

I forgot that the solution is not to struggle so hard. I forgot to take a pause. I forgot about my ritual(s) that brought me calm. I forgot about Bamboo. I forgot to play. I forgot to spend time with my daughter on the couch, doing nothing. And life in this amnesia seemed as natural as the one without.

And then, one day, I read a piece of news about the Tree of Robin Hood, a 300-year-old sycamore, being chopped down in an act of vandalism in the UK. “A sentinel of time and the elemental spirit of Northumberland” was down.


I found myself contemplating this sad image.

I saw it still standing in a different realm. I saw it growing again from its roots in this realm; sycamores can do that. I wonder what it would say to us.


From the Gap tree to the gap in my awareness 

And then it suddenly struck me. I had just paused in a long time. The gap tree guided and showed me the gap in my awareness. Nature, in her grandeur, has a poetic way of signaling to us, humans, about the impermanence of life. This tree, centuries old, embodied the lessons of resilience, strength, and endurance, even being down on the ground, miles away from me. Sending me a message through its image on my screen. What a great gift from this tree. Thank you.

I promised myself to pause again and used my Bamboo to remind me of that. This is why I wanted one in the first place.

So, I’ve started to plan my pauses. Not “plan” as in a stressed plan, by plan as in “surrender to a rhythm I don’t want to ignore anymore.” Plan to play. Plan to create and have fun. Plan to see my children growing. I plan to serve through my writing. Plan to listen.


How I use my Bamboo now: a gentle reminder of the larger symphony 

That being said, I started by planning the “gaps” and turning them into pauses and contemplation.

One in the morning. After I finish my workout and before starting work, around 8’clock. I sit for 3 minutes in silence and gratitude.

One at lunch. Before eating, I take another 3 minutes. I connect Bamboo to one of my plants (ask them before) and then listen to their singing.

One in the afternoon. After I finish my writing day – and, depending on the day, I end it in silence or music – 3 or 5 minutes. Sometimes, I’m writing and listening to the music of plants, but again, it depends on what I’m writing.

For me, plant music works well with journaling, channeling, and creating, and less for the commissioned (and serious) work.

One at night, before sleeping. I recently brought a Monstera to my bedroom, and maybe I’ll try a good night song by her. So far, I’ve only tried guided meditations, prayers, or silent gratitude – 10 minutes before falling asleep.

It takes longer to write (and read) about my pauses than taking them: 15-25 minutes/ day. I jongle with my pauses, and no day is the same. But all days have 25 minutes for me, when I allow them to.

I know that terrible things happen in the world. I know that (my) life is not all pink and flying unicorns. But I also know it is in my power not to let myself be overwhelmed and scared.

But I also know I can light a light and tune into music of nature every time and in any gap I encounter on this journey.

Cristina Popov
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