The animal in me seeks the peace of the wild things and the divinity of the profoundness of virtues. But the human in me questions: Where do I belong? For it to be fulfilled, these two worlds must merge.

The soul, also known as anima in Latin, travels from one body to another. It resides in blades of grass, in flowers, and in songbirds. It is also in the mayfly, which is destined to live for a day or two, and in the oldest tree, standing on Earth for thousands of years.

Our bodies are also vessels for the anima, meaning “breath, air.” The word “animal” thus suggests that other creatures are sentient and have a soul.

The human animal breathes, discovering the mysteries of the world with their intellect. The discoveries of science also invite us to question the matters of the heart.

I wonder, is consciousness limited to humankind? Do animals have souls, even if the etymology of “anima” and “spirit” suggests they do? Is more than the human world governed by virtues?

A part of me is in awe of the equanimity of the natural world. Even in moments of grave destruction, nature remains at work. All species are searching and adapting to survive the unfolding crisis. Isn’t perseverance a virtue shared by all living beings?

A universal genetic code exists for all creatures on Earth. Life is governed by the same principles.

At our core, there was once a wandering animal, but perhaps now it sleeps.

The discoveries of science and the righteousness of religion must combine to wake this animal from its deep sleep and guide its way back to nature. The most fascinating thing about religion is that it evolves—with us and through us. The agrarian revolution replaced animism to create a new religion that enabled us to domesticate animals, just as the scientific revolution challenged religion to justify industrial principles.

We are far more sensitive to the world around us than we recognize. We create stories—even revolutions—again and again to justify our acts of kindness as well as cruelty.

It is difficult to accept animal consciousness because if we do, animals will no longer be mere resources but creatures with sentience and souls. We must enter the world of relations.

The realities of the climate crisis are linked to the stories of human supremacy, which keep us lonely at the pinnacle. It robs us of our animal intelligence—the part of us that knows we cannot exist without one another.

Our food is the gift of pollinators; the air we breathe is from the trees and the oceans. Our individual well-being is connected to the well-being of others.

In yoga, there were 8,400,000 asanas, representing 8,400,000 incarnations. These asanas progressively evolve from the simplest life forms to the complex form: a fully realised human being. The same lesson of humans at the pinnacle was taught in the yoga school I attended last year. As much as I honour everything I learnt, I wouldn’t pass on this story. I interpret yoga as teaching us to connect to the wisdom of different species—the breath, the sound, the posture—because each species has its unique gift and sacred consciousness. 

By imitation, we open ourselves to their learnings; yoga is biomimicry at its finest.

The human in me is slowly beginning to see that the peace of the wild things and the divinity of moral virtues are one. All species are in equanimity, balancing each other. There is a sanctity in their conduct.

Only the animal in us knows the ways of the natural world. To be a human animal is to play our part with sincerity in the world of relations.

Words by Priyanka Singh Parihar,

Founder and Editor-in-Chief