Plants know things.
A tomato seedling barely visible above the soil is already processing dozens of variables. Light wavelength tells it whether competitors are overhead.
Chemical signals from neighbouring roots reveal who’s friend and who’s foe.
Soil chemistry dictates where to send new growth.
This isn’t a metaphor.
When a Douglas fir detects herbivore damage, it floods its needles with defensive compounds and sends airborne warnings to nearby trees.
When a bean plant’s roots encounter drought, the memory of that stress influences how it responds to water scarcity weeks later.
Plants don’t have brains, but they have intelligence.
They gather information, weigh options, make choices, and remember experiences.
They learn.
We carry this same biological intelligence.
Every cell in your body makes moment-to-moment decisions about resource allocation, threat response, and repair priorities.
Your gut microbiome processes chemical information and influences your mood.
Your immune system remembers past encounters and adapts its responses.
But somewhere along the way, we began to trust only the intelligence that happens above our necks.
We learned to override our bodies’ wisdom, dismiss gut feelings, and second-guess instincts that have kept our ancestors alive for millions of years.
Domei isn’t about gaining mystical plant powers.
It’s about remembering what we already know.
When you sit with a plant and feel drawn to touch its leaves, that’s information.
When your breathing slows in the presence of trees, your nervous system responds to real chemical signals.
When you sense which plants want attention, you use the same pattern-recognition abilities that help you navigate social situations.
This intelligence doesn’t require belief or ideology to exist.
It’s already running in the background, waiting for you to notice.
The plants are simply inviting you to remember what it feels like to be alive, aware, and responsive in a constantly speaking world.