The Web of Interbeing: Remembering Our Place in the Living World

By Michelle Ward – April 6, 2025

In the Association of Nature and Forest Therapy (ANFT) guide training, there is a foundational exercise called the Web of Interbeing—a deeply reflective invitation to explore our place in the greater tapestry of life. More than an assignment, it is a homecoming. It asks us to step beyond categories and identities, beyond the human-centric view of the world, and remember that we belong to a vast, relational ecology.

The purpose of this practice is simple, yet profound: to see ourselves as part of the living world, not apart from it. This shift in awareness fosters empathy, humility, and reverence for the more-than-human world—beings who are not human but who are deeply alive, aware, and interwoven into our lives. Moss, water, fox, tree, wind, stone—each holds wisdom and companionship, if we are willing to listen.

Three core teachings underpin the Web of Interbeing:

• Relational Ecology – Nature is not a collection of isolated things; it is a symphony of relationships.

• Decentering the Human Perspective – The world is not made for us. We are part of something much bigger.

• Embodied Awareness – We do not just know interbeing with our minds. We feel it, breathe it, live it.

In that spirit, I want to share pieces of my own Web of Interbeing. These are the beings and elements who have welcomed me into deeper presence, and who remind me daily that I am not alone on this journey. Each has become part of my story—sometimes as teacher, sometimes as mirror, always as kin.

Moss & Lichen

My first true invitation into the quiet magic of the forest. These soft, often-overlooked beings taught me to slow down, to look closer, and then even closer. They embody persistence, protection, and the art of thriving in stillness.

Water

The creek near my home is not just a water source—it is a sacred pulse that nourishes all life. Water connects past and present, whispering the wisdom of the ancestors who knew its power and asking me to remember its sacredness.

Soil

Soil is the cradle of all life. Even in winter, it holds warmth and promise. It reminds me that beneath what appears dormant, transformation is always unfolding. Patience lives here.

Leaves

Guardians of the ground, leaves show me the beauty of cycles—of giving back, of protecting, of letting go. They transform through every season and return to the earth with grace.

Transpiration

That soft mist rising from sun-warmed trees—this is the earth exhaling. In it, I feel the breath I share with the forest. A lesson in release, in flow, in trust.

Fox

Fox brought me into my body. In her presence, I learned to honor instinct, to follow the quiet pull of curiosity, and to trust the places that call to me without explanation.

Hawk

A symbol of ancestral love. Hawk came to me in a moment of retreat, urging me back to the land. Her wings carry the wisdom of my grandparents, reminding me I am always guided.

Trees (Pine)

The pines that line our drive are steadfast companions. They hold the memory of every season and offer silent strength. They teach me endurance, rootedness, and the power of stillness.

Lavender

Our lavender field began as a dream—planted with family, tended with love. She teaches me the art of waiting, the strength in softness, and the sacredness of scent and sensation.

Turtle

In Florida, at a time of deep uncertainty, turtle kept crossing my path. Her presence became a balm—steady, grounded, and ancient. Turtle is the namesake of my cohort, and a reminder that healing is both an inner and outer journey.

Daffodils & Spring Flowers

Bright heralds of hope. When I saw daffodils blooming along our freshly carved therapy trails, I felt joy ripple through me. They are proof that life returns—and sometimes the forest itself gives us gifts.

Fern

Fern is an old friend—our wedding plant, our creekside companion. Her soft bounce, her deep roots, her wildness all remind me of balance: between giving and taking, strength and tenderness.

Rock

Solid and ancient, rock is the keeper of time. When I need to feel grounded, I lean into stone. It holds the history of this place and steadies my soul.

Pileated Woodpecker

Persistent, headstrong, and loud in its pursuit—this bird reflects parts of me I’ve tried to quiet. But through its presence, I’ve come to honor my own resilience and sensitivity. Even our vulnerabilities belong in the web.

And Me

I am the thread that moves through all of these. I am water and root, wing and stone, mist and fern. I do not stand apart—I belong to this intricate, shimmering web of beings. And every time I return to it, I am reminded that healing, purpose, and peace live not in isolation, but in connection.

This is the work of forest therapy—not just walking in the woods, but waking up to the world we’re woven into. The Web of Interbeing is not just a reflection. It is a remembering. And for me, it has become a map back home.

If you find yourself longing for reconnection—to yourself, to the land, to something deeper—you are not alone. The forest is waiting to welcome you, just as it did me.

Come sit with the moss. Walk with the trees. Listen to the breath of the world. And feel your place in the web.