Perception. The sweetest poison that exists.
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There is something that frightens me more than any pest, more than drought, more than a late frost that burns the April buds.
It's called perception.
Not what is real. Not what is provable, irrefutable, almost obvious to anyone with eyes to see. But what is seen — filtered, distorted, amplified — by those who have decided to see only what they want to see.
It is the mother of all conspiracy theories. The sweetest poison that exists. Because it doesn't burn when we swallow it. On the contrary — it tastes like being right.
Algorithms and the worst of us
We are all, deep down, a little worse than we'd like to be. We don't say it. But if we look at ourselves honestly, we know it.
And social media algorithms know it too. Better than we do. They have studied that part of us that reacts to fear, envy, anger — and turned it into a product. Their product. We are the product.
The result? A world where perception is worth more than reality. Where a thirty-second story is enough to destroy years of honest work. Where whoever shouts loudest is always right, even when they're wrong.
Plants don't read social media
In nature, things work differently. Completely differently.
No algorithm can convince the roots that the leaves have all the sun and they have none. No push notification convinces the trunk to let go of the branches it has carried for thousands of years — because that is its role, its identity, its reason for being.
The blade of grass doesn't know what other blades of grass think. It doesn't compare. It bends — and then it stands back up. Because that's how it's made. Because balance is not an opinion, it's a law.
Humans try everything to break this balance. Nature waits. It has always waited. And it has always won.
This too shall pass
I am optimistic. Not out of naivety — I have enough years and enough earth under my fingernails not to be naïve. I am optimistic because I have seen too many plants come back to life after impossible winters.
Sooner or later, humans will find a balance with nature. With plants. With themselves. It will take time. Perhaps a long time. But it will happen.
In the meantime, there is one simple thing you can do. It costs nothing. No account, no connection, no subscription.
Look at a plant. Any plant. You don't need to buy it, you don't need to own it. Even a blade of grass on the pavement — yes, the blade of grass again, I know — but it's a thought worth returning to every time.
Study how it stands. How it moves. How it survives without asking your permission. Then tell me if you can still worry about what the algorithm thinks of you.
Luigi Paolicchi — piantedappartamento.shop