When I think about many of the challenges facing the world, from loneliness to polarisation, to conflict over resources and climate change, I can’t help wonder whether our separation and disconnection from nature has a lot to do with it.

In the West, we have been living under an illusion: that we are separate from the natural world. So much of our dominant worldview divides and categorises, breaking life into mechanistic parts. We see forests as timber, rivers as water supply, the underground metabolism of soil, fungi and minerals, which we often commodify, rather than as living systems of which we are part. In this framing, humans sit outside and above, managing the rest of life as though it were something we could control and shape to our whims. And with that mentality, we’ve seen the consequences. Earth has been sending her invoices, in the forms of droughts, floods, wildfires, marine heatwaves and algal blooms.

In the social and relational space, these notions of separation show up in the narratives that are promoted around individualism, achievement, in fact most of our ‘hero’ stories, where one person goes out and saves the day.

But our relationship within the natural world, is one of deep connection whether we acknowledge it or not. Recently, I listened to John Seed, author of Thinking Like a Mountain, who offered a simple but piercing exercise to illustrate this point. He invites us to:

Sit in front of a tree (or house plant for that matter) and hold your breath for as long as you can. While you do, reflect on the notion of separateness. Hold your breath like your life depends on it. See how long you can last.

When you finally breathe in, ask yourself: Who am I and what is my relationship to the world and the cosmos?

And in that first breath… what do you notice? For me, beyond the immediate relief, I found that there was a real gratitude and appreciation for nature. A recognition of the obvious connectedness. Our lives are inseparable for the natural world, how could that not be?

It is these simple, and importantly embodied, experiences that have us recognise and remember those primal connections.

If this sounds “woo woo”, maybe that’s just modernity whispering in your ear. Remember, forests don’t mind if you believe in them. They breathe you anyway. I get that nature can feel a long way away from our lives, especially with every increasing numbers of people living in cities and urban environments. And yet, there is not a single thing that we do in life that does not have its origins in nature or is dependent upon it. There are the obvious things, like the food we eat and the water we drink, the less obvious, like the sand that becomes glass and silicon for our buildings and phones, and the more obscure, like fungi in your bread and antibiotics.

So what happens when we start to bring nature back into our lives? Well there are so many profound benefits of nature connection, beyond the immediate ability to be grounding. Time in nature has incredible physiological, emotional, and cognitive benefits. Exposure to natural settings reduces blood pressure, balances stress hormones, and can restore attention in ways that built environments rarely do. Children who grow up with daily contact with nature often show greater empathy and problem-solving skills, while adults report feeling more patient and able to hold complexity. At a community level, shared time outdoors fosters trust, strengthens relationships, and creates a sense of shared responsibility for the places we inhabit.

And beyond that, there is much we can learn from nature in the way it organises itself, compared with how we do. Nature’s systems don’t have a CEO, a single element that is in charge. Forests organise themselves through mutual exchange, where the mycorrhizal fungi pass nutrients from tree to tree, where predator and prey populations adjust in dynamic balance, where rivers carve landscapes from the rain in their catchments. This is not chaos, it’s a deeply ordered complexity built on relationships, reciprocity, and constant adaptation. And unlike the transactions of our market systems, these exchanges are not based on keeping score. The bees don’t invoice the forest for pollination, the ocean doesn’t charge the mangrove for sheltering its fish, the berry bushes don’t withhold their fruit because the birds cannot pay. Life simply participates in life.

The Council of All Beings, a practice created by John Seed and Joanna Macy, invites us to step into this worldview. Participants take on the perspective of another being, be it a river, a hooded plover, or a 300-year-old red gum, and speak from its voice. Imagine how our planning meetings, government policies, or city designs might change if nature had a seat at the table. Imagine moving decision-making into the places affected, feeling the wind, hearing the birds, smelling the soil.

If we took these lessons seriously in our institutions, we might design schools that prioritise outdoor learning, workplaces that embed time in nature into their culture, and councils that meet in the landscapes they govern. We might make policy with the same patience and adaptability as ecosystems, allowing ideas to compost, inviting diverse voices, embracing the reciprocity of mutual exchange and valuing long-term resilience over short-term wins.

Being back in right relationship with nature means more than planting trees or conserving land. It is about working to dissolve the illusion that we are separate and recognising that our survival is bound to the survival of all other beings. In an age of climate crisis, biodiversity collapse, and social fragmentation, this shift in perception is not an optional one, it is essential.

When we re-enter the web of life with humility, we stop asking only how can we use this? and start asking how can we serve this? We begin to see that healing the earth and healing ourselves are not separate tasks, it is the same breath, drawn together.

Maybe take this opportunity to step outside, notice what you’re noticing when you place your hands on the earth, when you breathe into the depth of your lungs, when you feel the sun shining on your face.