BY SOPHIA ROKHLIN
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
Sophia Rokhlin is an anthropologist and nonprofit organizer working with human and environmental rights organizations. She coordinates a permaculture program with the Chaikuni Institute and directs the regenerative ayahuasca initiative at the Temple of the Way of Light in the Peruvian Amazon
BY SOPHIA ROKHLIN
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
Sophia Rokhlin is an anthropologist and nonprofit organizer working with human and environmental rights organizations. She coordinates a permaculture program with the Chaikuni Institute and directs the regenerative ayahuasca initiative at the Temple of the Way of Light in the Peruvian Amazon
BY SOPHIA ROKHLIN
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
Sophia Rokhlin is an anthropologist and nonprofit organizer working with human and environmental rights organizations. She coordinates a permaculture program with the Chaikuni Institute and directs the regenerative ayahuasca initiative at the Temple of the Way of Light in the Peruvian Amazon
BY SOPHIA ROKHLIN
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
In meadows or forests, I often find myself touched by a poetic longing when encountering a flower. I’m gently possessed to bow before the blossom and inhale honestly, earnestly. This gesture, to me, represents an intimate sort of conversation, spells cast in the air by pheromones, perfumes – an unseen, chemical exchange.
Over aeons of experiment, the chemical artistry of plants has developed as an adaptive solution to their immobility. By modulating their form in response to adversity (dropping leaves, growing in new directions), or by chemically ‘convincing’ pollinators and predators to do their bidding (with delicious secretions, showy colours, or addictive alkaloids) plants are in a constant, often invisible, conversation with their environments.
While not all plants give a showy demonstration of their wit or will, some do visibly respond to the presence of humans and other creatures. In 2019, researchers at Tel Aviv University, led by Marine Viets, demonstrated that a species of evening primrose (Oenothera drummondii) produces up to a 20% spike in nectar when stimulated by the vibrating presence of a bee for three minutes. In a similar vein, the naked eye can see the mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia) explode with pollen when gently grazed by any passerby. Charles Darwin was famously enamoured by the Catasetum orchids, which, when tickled by an insect, will project a pod of pollen resembling a small rocket.
The sexual strategies of plants are often visible to the naked eye, especially in the case of angiosperms, or flowering plants. Angiosperms make up nearly 80% of the identified plant species, and are characterised by their sexual evolution from flower to fruit. Unlike their ancestors – the gymnosperm – which relied on wind and water to carry fertilised seeds, angiosperms direct energy towards developing their arts of seduction in the form of petals and perfumes. These flowers lure creatures towards their pollen, or ‘sperm’, using nectar and colour to guide their way. Pollinators fly away, sometimes in a chemical-induced frenzy, covered in the genetic information of plants, spreading it far and wide. Once fertilised, flowering plants transform into fruits with tasty skins, designed to whet the appetites of different roaming creatures, who also play a role as pollinators.
Looking at the creative, reproductive strategies of plants – green vegetables we often see as inert, passive foliage on the stage of humankind – we might notice they are actually very active, creative participants in our world.
The story goes that humans cultivated plants – but could it be possible that it is the other way around? In The Botany of Desire (2001), Michael Pollan questions our self-centred conception of human agency by enumerating the stories of successful crops (corn, potatoes, apples and marijuana) that might, somehow, ‘employ’ human beings to propagate themselves. He suggests that we look at history from a plant’s-eye-view. Perhaps we didn’t invent agriculture so much as plants competed for our affection, so we might serve their reproductive imperative. The all-American lawn, for Pollan, can be seen as “something grasses do to people”.
We only think we are the drivers of evolution, and yet, it is entirely possible that there are other agencies in nature that influence us as much as we influence them. We could look to canines and ask: did humans domesticate dogs, or did dogs study our behaviour and learn how to influence us for their benefit? Certainly, both species played mutualistic roles in our co-evolution.
We can look deeper here into the invisible realms of influence, and explore the effects of psychoactive plants, and how they might play a role in shaping the appetite and culture of humans and other creatures. Chemical compounds that stimulate reactions in the human brain and nervous system include pheromones, tryptamines, phenthylamines and methlyxanthines. Terence McKenna called these chemicals “nature’s molecular storehouse” – a dazzling array of compounds that interact with animals’ neurological processing of sensory data. When snorted, drunken, eaten or administered topically, the psychoactive constituents of these plants – as well as extracts and excretions from insects and amphibians – cause paralysis, psychosis, sexual stimulation, heightened sensory perception, and immune system reboot. They also induce transcendental and, by some accounts, telepathic experiences.
What to make of this extraordinary range of alkaloids, which have amazing and varied effects on the human brain and nervous system? We might propose that these chemical combinations are not simply accidental byproducts, or merely defensive mechanisms designed to repel insects and other pests. Could they be chemical messengers, devised by the plant world to influence our behaviour of species such as our own? Could they influence more than our tangible environment, but also shape our inner landscape, our landscape of consciousness?
Certainly, this is a radical proposal that does not fit into our current, warped model of evolution, where we perceive ourselves as the pinnacle of the pyramid of life on Earth. Yet we know complex ecosystems are not pyramids, but rather, interdependent communities, woven together in delicate, exquisitely sophisticated webs – our common ecology.
When we look to plants, we realise there is no question that we are constantly influenced by invisible forces in this world. Our relationship with the plant kingdom continuously shapes our consciousness, transforming culture and civilisation in the process. Carried in the wind is a constant conversation, and we are not exempt from receiving these chemical communiqués. If we consider the capacity of plants to change or alter human consciousness, it might do us good to gain a deeper awareness of our relationship with the botanical world. By reaching a more nuanced understanding and wisdom of the power of plants, we will find ourselves outfitted with a more integrated worldview where we too belong to the family of things. This may sound far out – but, perhaps, nothing less can bring about the change we need.
Sophia Rokhlin is an anthropologist and nonprofit organizer working with human and environmental rights organizations. She coordinates a permaculture program with the Chaikuni Institute and directs the regenerative ayahuasca initiative at the Temple of the Way of Light in the Peruvian Amazon