Mutazione Is a Quiet Lesson in Spiritual Botany

The premise of Mutazione might seem inconsequential but underneath it lies a poetic nod to the therapeutic sentience of plants. While there is a lot of debate over the extent of their consciousness, there’s evidence that plants resonate with enough energy to communicate, whether in distress or even in song. Those same frequencies may be responsible for their soothing qualities, or why they seem to respond to music and sound. There are some that even say that trees and plants sing, be it a mixture of passive sounds like the brush of grass stem in the wind or the patter of rain on broadleaf, to the electricity that resonates deep within a tree trunk. The choir surrounds us all the time, affecting us in ways we’ve yet to fully understand.

That’s the feeling I’m chasing as I make my own garden. I added several air-circulating houseplants to my living room last month, along with a couple dozen succulents and a home hydroponics system that sits on my kitchen counter. Even just the constant sight of green seems to be a mood lifter. The nurturing process has also become a healthy distraction, something my nervous energy can assign some background attention to as I go about my day. There’s also a joy in the anticipation and the payoff. It’s among the few things I can be patient about. It’s as if for all my lack of control in the universe, I can still prune or shape the miracle of life in some small way.

Mutazione tackles several topics in the course of its five-hour experience, particularly the themes of traditional healing, outside interference and the perils of harboring a savior complex. Kai’s grandfather, while well-intentioned, triggers a chain of events that leads to tragedy, disrupting the emotional and spiritual health of the village. His interference is reflected in the slow but devastating disruption to the local ecosystem, a slow decay that isn’t addressed until his illness nearly leaves the town without a healer at all. It is only after Kai surrenders to the traditional wisdom of the elders that order and health are restored. Her grandfather’s method of teaching forces her to figure out the basics on her own, gifting her with an intuition that can only be learned through the trial and error process of hands-on work. In that way, the game is also a metaphor for her growth into adulthood.

While I’ve finished the game and can no longer visit the gardens I grew in Mutazione, their impact lingers. Had I not played it, my return to horticulture probably wouldn’t have kicked into high gear. As I add new specimens to my collection, recreating the conditions of their natural environment, each one brings something new to the room. A splash of color and a smattering of contrasting textures, sticking out like rough paintbrushes in a tin can. They fill a space where something was missing. Perhaps as I calibrate and adjust each plant, like sound engineers carefully mixing a tune, my own harmony will soon emerge.