Nepenthes Sumatrana

Nepenthes Sumatrana





It was a bizarre specimen, hollow and shaped like a conch shell. The inside was wide and curved, spotted like a surreal leopard. At the top was a small hole about the size of quarter, the rim was surrounded by what looked like rows of wretched teeth. Dozens of colors blended into an unusual and captivating mélange of the most brilliant greens, to the most exotic pinks and splotches of deep, magnificent purples. I was captivated by its complexity. The plant had a labyrinthine depth that I was stunned by. It seemed like an organ, if the entire greenhouse were a body then this orchid would be the heart. The luminescent light green stem would be the pulmonary artery connecting this beautiful oddity to the rest of the leaves and flowers in the basin it originated from.



The feeling of its skin was familiar, perhaps similar to the way one’s own skin feels after a day by the ocean. Weathered and conditioned by the sand, infused with salt water and gently battered minute by minute by the sea breeze. This flower seemed to be almost human in its features, such a delicate but durable surface with unbelievable intricacy within. I examined the surface closely; it appeared to have a porous exterior. I thought perhaps this is the way the flower breathes, inhaling and exhaling oxygen through the spectacular set of human-like pores on it’s delicate skin. I was mesmerized by this thing, this curious organism. I began to feel almost attached to it, if it were die I would subtly mourn its absence. I would stare at the space that it was no longer filling; I would feel its absence and recognize the change in the atmosphere of the hothouse.

It was bombastic and enormous in its presence, though coy and slight in appearance. I knelt down next to it and drew my head close to the opening of its oracular internal cave thinking that it might speak to me. Perhaps it would tell me the plight of growing so low to the ground and being ignored entirely by the masses, it would lament on how it is plagued by the mobs of ordinary, plebian flowers that lack the alien beauty of itself. I would listen and nod and genuinely understand, knowing that this spectacular blossom was dysphoric would be the same as thrusting a bayonet into my chest.



I gradually rose and began to leave, contemplating the inexplicable allure of the plant; I found myself thinking of that one theory that suggests we are all connected by molecules. Not one person or thing is separate, we are linked together by the molecules in our skin which are adjacent to the molecules in the air, which are part of the molecules in the skin of the person standing ten feet away from you who is not even aware that she is joined to you in ways that we cannot even begin to wrap our minds around. It is a lovely idea and gives me a sense of security and belonging whenever I consider it. I applied the thought to the flower and thought about the deep interconnection I share with every atom of the organism’s being. I thought about every human’s connection with every single thing in the natural world.