Ever walked into a room and felt like your dog was judging your life choices? Or maybe you’ve looked at a centuries-old oak tree and felt a weird, grounding sense of respect that you can't quite put into words. It's not just you being "extra." This is basically the core of kinship with all life, a concept that sounds a bit "woo-woo" on the surface but is actually rooted in deep biology, indigenous wisdom, and some pretty intense modern science.
Honestly, we’ve spent the last couple of hundred years acting like we’re the CEOs of Earth. We treat plants, animals, and ecosystems like inventory. But that's a relatively new—and arguably failing—way of existing. Kinship isn't about being a "nature lover" in the Hallmark sense. It’s a fundamental shift in how you see your place in the universe. You aren't on the planet; you’re of it.
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J. Allen Boone wrote a book about this back in the 50s, also titled Kinship With All Life. He talked about a dog named Strongheart. Most people saw a movie-star German Shepherd; Boone saw a teacher. He realized that if you stop shouting commands and start actually listening—observing the subtle shifts in energy and body language—the communication barrier starts to crumble. It’s about mutual respect, not mastery.
The Science Behind the Connection
You might think kinship is just a feeling, but it’s actually baked into our DNA. We share about 99% of our DNA with chimpanzees, sure, but we also share about 60% with bananas. That’s a lot of common ground.
Biophilia is a term popularized by Edward O. Wilson. He was a Harvard biologist who argued that humans have an innate, genetic tendency to seek connections with other forms of life. It’s why people pay more for hotel rooms with a view of the park. It’s why hospitals with gardens see faster recovery rates. We are literally wired to need the presence of other living things to stay sane. When we sever that kinship with all life, we get what some researchers call "nature deficit disorder."
Then there's the "Wood Wide Web." Suzanne Simard, a professor of forest ecology at the University of British Columbia, proved that trees in a forest aren't just individuals competing for sunlight. They’re actually a massive, social network. Using fungal threads (mycorrhizae), they trade carbon, warn each other about pests, and even nurture their offspring. If trees are out here having a community meeting under your feet, it’s hard to argue that they’re just "objects."
How We Lost the Script
How did we get so disconnected? Most historians point toward the Industrial Revolution and certain interpretations of Enlightenment philosophy. René Descartes, for instance, famously claimed animals were just "automata"—basically meat-machines that didn't feel pain or have souls.
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That mindset was super convenient for building factories and clearing forests. It’s easier to strip-mine a mountain if you don't think of it as a living entity.
But indigenous cultures never really bought into that. Robin Wall Kimmerer, a botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, writes beautifully about this in Braiding Sweetgrass. She explains that in many indigenous languages, "it" is never used for a living thing. You wouldn't call a robin an "it." You’d use the same grammatical structures you use for a person. That tiny linguistic shift changes everything. If the river is a "who" instead of a "what," you probably won't dump chemicals in it.
Animals Are Way Smarter Than We Give Them Credit For
If you’re skeptical about kinship with all life, look at the research on animal intelligence. It’s exploding.
We used to think humans were the only ones who used tools. Then Jane Goodall saw chimps using sticks to fish for termites. Then we found out crows use traffic to crack nuts and can remember human faces for years. If you’ve ever been "scolded" by a crow in a park, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
- Octopuses: These guys have nine brains and can solve complex puzzles. They’ve been known to short-circuit aquarium lights by spraying water at them because they wanted to sleep in the dark.
- Elephants: They have complex burial rituals. They mourn their dead and visit the bones of ancestors. That’s a level of emotional depth that rivals our own.
- Fungi: Paul Stamets has spent decades showing how mushrooms can clean up oil spills and might even be the "neurological network" of the planet.
When you start looking at these facts, the wall between "us" and "them" starts to look pretty thin. Kinship isn't about pretending animals are humans. It’s about recognizing they have their own lives, their own purposes, and their own intelligence that we just happen to be poorly equipped to understand.
What Most People Get Wrong About Kinship
People often confuse kinship with anthropomorphism—assigning human traits to non-humans. Like dressing your cat in a tuxedo.
While that’s cute for Instagram, real kinship with all life is the opposite. It’s about meeting an organism on its own terms. It’s about acknowledging that a bee has a "bee-ness" that is vital and complex, even if it doesn't think like a human. It’s a horizontal relationship, not a vertical one.
We also tend to think of nature as something "out there"—a national park or a forest. But kinship happens in your kitchen. It happens with the yeast in your sourdough starter or the spiders in your basement. It’s a constant state of being, not a weekend hobby.
Practical Ways to Rebuild Your Connection
So, how do you actually live this out? It’s not like you have to go live in a cave and talk to rocks (unless that’s your vibe). It’s about small, intentional shifts in how you move through the world.
Observation Over Interaction
Most of the time, we approach nature wanting to do something. We want to hike the trail, catch the fish, or take the photo. Try just sitting. Go outside, find a spot, and sit for 20 minutes. Don't look at your phone. Watch the birds. See how the wind moves the grass. You’ll notice things you’ve ignored for years. This is "active witnessing."
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Change Your Language
Try to stop calling living things "it." Refer to the tree in your yard as "he" or "she" or "they" or just "the tree." It sounds goofy at first. But try it for a week. It becomes much harder to ignore the needs of your plants or the birds at your feeder when you stop objectifying them.
Practice Reciprocity
Kinship is a two-way street. If you take from the earth, what are you giving back? This doesn't have to be grand. If you have a garden, leave the seed heads for the birds in winter. If you go for a walk, pick up some trash. It’s a tiny way of saying, "I see you, and I’ve got your back."
Acknowledge Your Food
This is a big one. Everything you eat was once alive. Whether it’s a cow or a carrot, it gave its life for yours. Acknowledging that—honestly, just a five-second moment of gratitude—changes your relationship with consumption. It moves you away from "buying products" and back into the cycle of life.
The Bigger Picture: Why This Matters Now
We’re living through some pretty chaotic times. Climate change, biodiversity loss, and a massive loneliness epidemic are all hitting at once.
Recovering our kinship with all life might actually be the "secret sauce" for survival. When we feel connected to the world, we’re less likely to destroy it. We’re also less likely to feel isolated. There is an immense comfort in knowing that you are part of a massive, ancient, and incredibly resilient system.
It’s about humility. We aren't the masters of the universe; we’re just one of the guests at the party. And honestly, the party is a lot more fun when you actually get to know the other guests.
Your Next Steps to Cultivate Kinship
Start by identifying one "non-human neighbor" this week. It could be the squirrel that lives in the park near your office, the moth that hangs out by your porch light, or even the herbs sitting on your windowsill.
Observe them for a few minutes every day. Don't try to change them or make them do anything. Just watch. Research their life cycle. Find out what they eat and where they go when it rains. By the end of the week, you’ll find that your world feels a little bit bigger and a lot less lonely.
From there, look into local restoration projects. Whether it's planting native species to help local pollinators or supporting "rewilding" efforts in your state, moving from observation to action is where the real transformation happens. Real kinship is a practice, not a philosophy. It’s something you do with your hands and your heart, one small interaction at a time.