The sago palm is a small plant that grows in southern climates and is often seen in front yards or incorporated into the landscape of urban architecture. Its long, spiny leaves create an interesting counterpoint to lawns and buildings. Only a few feet in height, its fronds spring up from a central core and curve back toward the ground like a green fountain.

The other day, while riding my bicycle down Austin Highway in San Antonio, I noticed a couple of sago palms growing side by side in a concrete planter beneath the sign for Earl Abelsʼ restaurant. When I stopped to have a closer look I discovered that, nestled within one plant's spiny arms, there was a mound of large almond shaped seeds. They were covered in wrinkled brown skin and were still connected to their mother by a network of thin cords. Some were loose and, when I picked one up, I found it to be surprisingly heavy and hard as a stone. I put a couple in my pocket and took them home.

They sat on the patio table in my backyard for several days along with other interesting objects I had collected: a clay tile with magazine pictures varnished onto its surface, an ashtray filled with pebbles, a candle, a small bell I found buried in the yard. The seeds were neither noticed nor ignored — they sat there quietly until a friend came by to visit. We found ourselves talking about the state of things, how people perceive their own reality through the lens of their opinions, how those opinions are conditioned by the society we live in and by the evening news we watch, and ultimately how communication between people has become a lost art because of the opinions we hold — which can seem to be more real than reality.

From our perch on the patio we had a pleasant view of the backyard: the grass spilling over the brick pathway, the bench by the fishpond covered by an arbor of young hackberry branches. Mountain laurel was climbing up the fence trailing fragrant bunches of purple flowers. The pecan tree had just unfurled its new foliage against a cloudless sky and the tips of its branches danced timidly in the breeze. I picked up one of the sago palm seeds and placed it in front of my friend. He looked at it. I said, “You know, if you place that seed in soil and give it water and give it the nutrients that it needs it will break through its hard exterior, send out a shoot and begin to unfold.”

It seemed like a hopeful comment to me. I was enjoying the thought when he said, “Yes, and it will know which direction to go to find the sun and which direction to send its roots.”

“Wow, youʼre right,” I responded, “and people are the same way. If weʼre given what we need — love, kindness, respect, dignity — we open up and flourish too.”

The ʻstate of thingsʼ in our world — war, divisiveness, environmental degradation and all the rest of it — suddenly appeared differently to me. The possibility that us humans could solve our problems — which, for some reason, never seems to be mentioned on the evening news — became obvious, natural, reasonable and based on the urgent necessity of our times: almost inevitable.

We nurture our children so they will grow up healthy and happy and yet sometimes we forget to nurture each other: and more importantly, ourselves. This also seems obvious. I have found that Knowledge is the best way to nurture myself. It is remarkable and delightful to feel the unfolding in my life. Whether you call it introspection or inner awareness or meditation, it doesnʼt matter — but there is a fountain within and it feels good to bathe in it.

Now I know what I have to do. Iʼll find a spot in the backyard and plant those two sago palm seeds. Iʼll water them and give them some space to grow. I want to see them sprout. I want to see what theyʼve got inside them. I want to see how my backyard looks with new growth coming out of the earth, reaching for the sky.

Illustration by Sara Shaffer.