GreenHouse Fantasy

I didn’t dally at the greenhouse. (I really didn’t.)

But one theory of the universe is that at every choice point two realities come into being—the world in which you took one path (not to dally) and the world in which you took the other (to dally). So I wonder what would have happen if…

I dallied at the greenhouse.

I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help myself. The plants were so enticing. Each one abiding in its orderly residence of a four-inch green pot. Each one eagerly awaiting its blooming life to come. And there I was—stuck with my two legs walking and arms swinging and eyes looking eagerly as I walked aimlessly up and down the aisles.

I meant to leave quickly to avoid the virus and to get back to business. I really meant to get back to business—to take care of all the important things that need to be taken care of—to ensure the continuing and orderly functioning of the universe continues unabated. But I was seduced by the house of green and the abundance of orderly four-inch pots. I couldn’t help but hide myself among the emerald-leaved life of pure possibility.

I lived easily among the plants for several days, then time started getting a little fuzzy. At first I had to be careful not to be spotted by the staff. But after a while, they got used to me hiding in the different pots and actually started giving me extra water when no one was looking. I suppose I must have turned a little green myself because at a certain point I realized that the sunlight, soil and water were all I seemed to need—indeed, all I had ever wanted.

I lived the good life through the summer—basking in the sun of the long hot days and marveling at the mysterious whisperings of the nights. (Yes, plants do talk to each other at night when no one is listening. I was never quite able to decipher their conversations, but the gentle hub-bub was all so pleasing and reassuring to my ears that I never really minded.)

Eventually the days got shorter and the autumn chill arrived. The chrysanthemums came and went. Finally, when the greenhouse was empty except for me, I realized it was time to go home.

I wrote a thank you note to the staff and left it in an envelope on the desk, along with a small donation to cover the costs of my water and fertilizer bill. My car was right where I left it and my chosen seedlings were still in the trunk.

I drove home. It was a fine spring day. I was happy to find my (real) life patiently waiting for me—as if no time at all had passed.

Personal Practice: Daydream today. Imagine you had taken some other path at some other point. Who would you be? What would you know? What realms would you wander through? Be specific.  Make up outrageous things.  Be who you are definitely not.  Enjoy the possibilities of the many worlds of imagination.