Today's Ritual Object: BARTLEBY

Mornings are thresholds.

I am a practicing Buddhist, so there are some cycles of time when I’m doing a sādhana. But some days, I might simply acknowledge gratitude or spend a few seconds breathing. Before I start any work, I find an object in my home that calls to me. I never know what it’s going to be each morning, but I let it guide the energy of the day.

Today, it’s Bartleby, my plant.

Several years ago, when my Papap (my maternal grandfather) passed away, my mother was given a peace lily. She propagated it, and now it exists in multiple forms as several plants. Bartleby is one of them.

Named after the infamous scrivener, his leaves are like bangs hiding his eyes. He wants to remain unseen, but can’t. I’m usually drawn to him when I need a little push to keep going. He’s both a comforting acknowledgment of what it means to genuinely feel apathetic toward life, and a reminder that momentum is easier to ride than it is to create.