A Reflection on Plants, Creativity, and the Quiet Teachings of a Healing Path
Since childhood, I have carried a natural affinity with plants, trees, and the quiet language of nature. My earliest memories go back to primary school gardening lessons, where tending rows of vegetables taught us patience and responsibility. I still remember the earthy smell of the soil and cow manure we spread along the furrows — a scent that felt strangely comforting, as if life itself were breathing beneath my fingertips.
Around the age of four or five, I spent hours at a neighbour’s home where garden plants and fruit trees flourished. I would follow the women around as they potted plants, mixed compost, and cared for seedlings. I helped not because anyone asked me to, but because something in my heart felt at home among leaves, roots, and green growing things. I learned to recognize almost every local plant and tree by sight and texture, without knowing that I was building a lifelong vocabulary with nature.
As I grew older, this bond deepened into more meaningful experiences — from the foothill environment of Sri Lovely Organic Farm in Sik, Kedah, to the expansive agricultural fields of Green Gulch Farm in California. There, I learned to cultivate lettuces, spinach, cabbages, potatoes, carrots, and to participate in the careful tending of Wendy’s Garden — a sanctuary where composting, mulching, and weeding were not mere chores, but contemplative practices. The rhythm of planting and harvesting became a mirror to life itself: birth, growth, decay, renewal.
Even today, my instinct is to touch plants — to run my hands along the leaves, press my fingers into the soil, or place my palms gently against the bark of old trees. I breathe in their scent as though reading something ancient and unspoken. I still remember the Angsana trees near my childhood school whose golden blossoms would fall like a carpet of sunlight across the road. Even after seventy years, that image remains one of my most cherished memories. Perhaps this is why I feel an ache in my soul when I witness forests cleared for profit, replaced by endless fields of commercial crops. Such actions feel like an injury to the spirit of the earth, and one day, I fear, humanity will learn its cost.
Alongside this journey, I also developed a long and personal relationship with cannabis. For many years, it was my herb of choice — not as an escape, but as a creative and contemplative companion that expanded my awareness and deepened my capacity for art, reflection, and inner exploration. It did not stunt my creativity; in many ways, it enhanced it. Some of my richest internal journeys, artistic breakthroughs, and philosophical insights were born during times when cannabis served as my silent collaborator.
Today, as I struggle with completing certain artworks — such as the Wanli Shipwreck painting — I sometimes wonder whether the clarity and creative flow I once relied on was tied to the gentle support of that plant. Does that hint at dependency? Perhaps — but not in the destructive sense that society imagines. Rather, it became woven into my personal creative method and inner landscape.
However, I must clearly state that I no longer smoke. Life, age, and shifting priorities have changed the terrain. What remains is gratitude, not longing, and certainly not regret.
To those who use it — or are curious — I offer one simple lesson from experience:
do not confuse feeling high with being wise.
The plant does not make you superior; it amplifies what is already within you.
If you are thoughtful, it may deepen thought.
If you are careless, it may deepen folly.
Therefore:
remain aware, never harm others, never abandon responsibility, and never let altered perception replace real discipline or real work.
For me, cannabis was neither an idol nor an enemy — it was a teacher, a companion, and a chapter. And like all chapters, it eventually closed.
Nature — whether through a towering forest tree, a humble garden shrub, or an herb that has traveled through cultures and centuries — has shaped my senses, my spirituality, my art, and my understanding of what it means to live in harmony with creation. For all these lessons, I remain grateful.
#earthwisdom #creativejourney #plantteacher #lifereflections #naturecompanion
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