I Think Your Garden is Trying to Kill Me
I believe a witch lives here. Not like the ones in fairy tales, or Disney stories. I think she’s a Pagan, or at least that’s what everyone who lives on this ridge says. But the rumors are irrelevant. All that matters now is the bright sunshine warming my skin, the scent of blooming spring flowers, and the bursting garden before me, which I am to tend for her. Also on my mind is the nausea from the tea she offered me before starting my work.
I am one who believes plants have a sort of consciousness of their own and the intentions put into their care greatly affect the growth. So I clear my mind and prepare to connect with the beings around me.

…By the way, the tea is kicking in.
I immediately surrender to every blade of grass. The vines wind their way up my ankles, legs, and become wrapped around my entire body; before melting to a warm puddle at my feet. The watering can spilled over my body, washing away physical boundaries. My red hair cascades down my back like liquid. Every plant is truly alive- moving and flowing. My environment appears to be made of an alien-substance; breathing, and sporting vibrant hues.
At the center of the garden is a blinking eye. I feel compelled to run to it, but I don’t think I’m moving. It feels as if my surroundings are coming at me, instead. Everything is happening at a speed faster than light, while also in slow motion. I am time.

I reach the eye (or it has reached me) and my earthly body sinks into the soil of the pupil, burying my past lives. My astral body emerges, experiencing a never-before-seen plane of existence. Or maybe I do remember…
Now banter. Echoes of whispers. This chatter is a living entity itself! Actually, it isn’t chatter. It is my own name being hissed.
I realize now what the eye belongs to. It’s an ominous creature with an aura consisting of dark smoke. The once living, loving, plants become tentacles. This garden of psychedelics wants to feed on me! My life force, my energy, my love. This is a plot of land housing a parasite disguised as plants of truth, merely representing addiction.
The tentacles wrap around me just as the garden explodes, bringing me to the edge. Now, time really has stopped.
The outward is the inward.
The pieces fall together.
Here all is one.
I wake up lying in the dirt where the vines first pulled me in. Still much too aware of the demons among us, I go back to the cabin to find the witch. She is swinging on the front porch reading a book. As I get closer, I see that the pages are blank. She still hasn’t acknowledged me as I sit next to her.
After a moment of silence I mutter, “Your garden tried to kill me.” I finish the statement before realizing she was staring at me, simultaneously speaking the exact same words.
I let out a sigh. I should have known.
I leave her to the swing, go inside and approach the vanity mirror. There I brush the dirt and leaves from my long, gray hair.
The knowledge that we all are one is a lonely truth.
