What happens when you love a houseplant?

My Dracaena Fragrans plant!

As I may have mentioned a while back, over the fall I set out on a solo road trip through the great American west, and ever since I've been semi-nomadic.

Opting for this allowed me to keep my bubble small and community exposure minimal while gifting two things that kept me sane: physical activity and novelty (Trail hikes felt better than gym visits. I know I'm not alone in this!). When I made my way back to Tucson, I wasn't sure how long I'd stay so I booked a short-term rental, and for now I'm still living that life, a bit rooted with occasional wanders.

It's always a dice-roll in the Airbnb department but I'd had good luck finding safe, not-sketchy and pleasant places to call home while on the road. Until one afternoon in December, when I arrived at a casita only to swing open the door and find that it absolutely reeked of cigarette fumes—in the curtains, in the furniture, in the air, even in the air outside (the main house tenant smoked), despite being listed as a non-smoking house.

I was not pleased.

I messaged the host about it and he offered me a....wait for it...ozone machine — to help with the smell, juuuust in case I wasn't inhaling enough toxicity already. When efforts to find suitable last-minute alternative accommodations failed, I decided to suck it up and stay in the stink. While on my next trip to Trader Joe's, I picked up a house plant (a Dracaena Fragrans), knowing full well that I'd read multiple conflicting pieces of "science" on whether indoor plants actually help with air purification, but figuring it was worth a shot.

I also knew that this space needed some love. It was just dripping in bad energy (aka, my own resentment of it). Something told me that if I walked in every day for the next 28 days bothered by the stench, it would only get worse. I brought my new plant home and introduced it to my smoke-stenched bedroom. A little embarrassed, I said to my plant: "You look great here!" As part of a new-for-me practice that admittedly felt a little silly at first, but then gradually became more natural, I talked to it every day, sharing encouraging words.

This brings me to the topic I wanted to chat today: belief.

Here are a couple questions for you: When was the last time you believed that something bad was going to happen to you, and then it did? Now, when was the last time you believed that something good was going to happen to you, and then it did?

Belief is not a new concept in the science space. We have known for a long time that there's a placebo effect in medicine, where patients can experience healing even when they receive the non-treatment. What's also interesting is that some patients experience positive effects from the placebo even when they're informed that it's the placebo. Why?

The researchers speculated that a driving force beyond this reaction was the simple act of taking a pill. "People associate the ritual of taking medicine as a positive healing effect," says Kaptchuk. "Even if they know it's not medicine, the action itself can stimulate the brain into thinking the body is being healed." (Harvard Health Publishing)

In other words, even when people are iffy on the scientific basis of a treatment, if they take the pill (or in other words, take an action that is otherwise associated with a healing effect) their brains can still set off this complex neurobiological reaction resulting in endorphins and dopamine release that can shift mood and emotions, and perhaps, cure ailments.

Not only have we found that there's a placebo effect, but researchers have also observed a nocebo effect, where if patients are told that a treatment has side effects, even if they are given the non-treatment, some will still experience the side effects.

Lately, as I have become more interested in sharing Tarot with others and started to do readings for friends and some students, I've been thinking more about the power of belief. Do we have to believe in the "magic" of Tarot in order for it to "work"? (By magic I mean how the precision of cards showing up brings us symbols that reveal our unconscious desires.) Or perhaps, is it OK if we allow an edge of doubt, but still give the practice a try, for curiosity's sake? Or even, out of desperation?

What matters more: the action or the belief?

Perhaps that's the wrong question. Because perhaps it will always be some alchemy of the two.

All I can know is what my own experience indicates, and what others share with me.

My practice with yoga nidra is another great example of this. When I'm in the practice, I feel the sensations that are cued. I do not actually believe on a logical level that I have my feet in water, but I feel that they are cold. I smell and taste what is mentioned. (PS- follow me on Insight Timer as I'll have more such meditations releasing soon.)

When I speak to students later after practice, they also report vivid experiences, not just in visualization but in their emotional states as a result of those scenes and cues. This might otherwise seem strange, given they are just laying on the floor. Nothing about their lived experience or their life circumstances has changed in any way. But they felt a momentary emotional shift nonetheless. And what I find most interesting here is that some people experience this even when they enter the practice simply believing that it will be relaxing, or that it will help them to rest. Again, in the action, and in the neurobiology of that action, there's often a more complex result that unfolds.

What happened with my smoke-bnb? Well, after a couple days, I noticed the stale air sort of...reset. Within a day or two, it smelled fine. I could finally host virtual yoga classes without feeling like my lungs were on fire with every breath. I took a chance and inhaled a whiff of the curtains—they too smelled normal.

So, was it the plant's purifying powers? Or, was it my desperate hope that the plant might help? Was it my blossoming adoration of its cute green leaves? Or...perhaps...did the room just naturally air out as it would have regardless of any action?

Does food cooked with love actually taste better? Can a plant that is loved shift your sensory perception of a space?

I guess I’ll never know. But either way, now I have this lovely plant. And I think I'll keep the edge of wonder as well.