I woke up today with an unusual thought on my mind: that of how completely and continuously we are integrated with our environment through the simple act of breathing.

Why do we breathe? It seems to confer organisms no particular advantage that they must rely on aerobic metabolism to survive. We could have come into being a different way. Yet every living creature I can think of relies on some variation of this basic process: the intake and expelling of air, water or some other substance as a sustainer of life.

To breathe reminds me of how inseparable I am from the world around me. It is not even just that “I” rely on this world to live; the very life processes that go on in my body rely on the action of outside elements, such as oxygen. Cut off completely from all that is external to me, I would die within, quite literally, a matter of seconds. The simple act of breathing renders “my body” part of one giant body; for if our body is all that is inside a certain boundary, how can the constant flow of oxygen into my lungs and bloodstream, and carbon dioxide out therefrom, not be considered “part of my body”? Which part of my red blood cells is part of me: the whole, or only that part that does not consist of oxygen from outside?

As I see it, it’s all part of my body. If the oxygen is “less my body” because it enters and leaves so quickly, are my skin cells, which rapidly die and are replaced, or the blood cells themselves, which live for an average of four months, also not my body? It seems to me that breathing is one way in which the fact that we exist as part of a giant networked organism is conveyed to us.

Maybe eating is another. Though it can be argued that a lot of the food we eat is taken from nature nonconsensually, some food is created specifically for the purpose of supporting life. Consider, for example, the fruit, which, unlike some plants that defend themselves from predators by tasting unpleasant, secreting poison, or dressing themselves in barbs and thorns, is specifically designed to appeal to the senses and to nourish the animal body, and which is in many cases cut off deliberately from its body (the tree or bush) when in a perfect condition to be eaten. The fruit, of course, and the consumption thereof, is an essential reproduction strategy for the plant; the seeds contained within survive their trip through the animal’s digestive system and pass unharmed out the other end, far from the host plant and already surrounded by their own natural fertiliser.

Sounds unpleasant, I know, but it works for the plant, and it keeps the animal alive. It’s hard to argue that the fruit was not invented by nature for the purposes of being eaten by animals, and thus is an entirely guilt-free food. We are meant, at least at this stage in evolution, to interact with our environment through eating, and to this end nature has given us sweet-tasting, nutritious foods that fulfil their purposes, both for the plant and for the animal, only when consumed.

Think again of the function of the fruit, too: reproduction. When an animal carries a fruit within its stomach, it acts practically as a surrogate mother for the plant. It’s quite unusual, when you think about it, and another example of the intricate interconnectedness of all life. We are, in many ways that we don’t even recognise, fathers and mothers, daughters and sons, to many other things on this planet, in this universe. Many factors aided in our creation, and we will aid in the creation of many other things. That’s not just fluff: it’s simple scientific fact. Yet it is also a wondrous thing. Why should we not marvel at it?