When the Teacup Held an Ocean: An Introduction to Animism

A few years ago (actually probably more than a few), I found myself performing some hardcore self-examination (typical of a chronic introvert): what was at the core of my worldview? What did I actually believe? Not what I thought I should believe or what sounded good in theory, but what was really driving my choices and responses to the world.

I’m not usually one to ascribe labels to things, I don’t find them particularly useful most of the time. But sometimes you just need to know where you stand, you know?

The human self is not separate, but entangled in a living field of relations

After a surprisingly short amount of time, I (re)confirmed that animism was at the core of everything I believed and did. If you’re not familiar with animism, here’s a working definition:

The understanding that all things possess some form of consciousness, spirit, or agency, that the world is alive with other persons, not all of whom are human.

Maybe you’ve felt it at different times and places, a sense of presence or awareness, like the world is more alive than we’re taught to believe.

So there I was, unsurprisingly, an animist. But what did that actually mean? How did that

encompass the reality I was moving through every day? Didn't that turn out to be the big question! As I pondered, I didn’t so much open Pandora’s box as purposefully drop that fucker on slate tiles and watch it smash into a million pieces.

The Exercise That Changed Everything

For shits and giggles, I took myself through a mental exercise: relating the definition of animism to my home life, work life, the country I lived in, the state of the world in general. I sat there for quite some time thinking it all through, bringing old realizations to the surface, connecting snippets of things I’d read. I didn’t write anything down, I didn’t need to. The implications, the pieces clicking into place, hit me like a truck.

In my head I felt like I was carrying a teacup that suddenly turned out to hold an ocean. I cried, and discovered personal truths that left me emotionally shut down for days.

When you really think through what it means to live in a world where everything has consciousness and agency, where everything is interconnected, where all of your actions ripple outward affecting countless other beings, it’s overwhelming.

What I Realized

What I realized was...a lot. Jumbled but somehow I was intuitively sense-making. The two major realisations, at least the ones I can articulate clearly, were:

• All of my actions were impacting somewhere. The land we lived on, my commute, my political views, my relationships, how I interacted with my house and dogs and backyard, my choice of coffee, my past, current, and future self… everything. There really is no distance between me and everything else. Every gesture, every decision, is already entangled in a web of consequence and response.

• Humanity’s actions are impacting everywhere. Not in an abstract “humans are bad” sense, but in the concrete reality of forests felled, rivers poisoned, habitats erased. Species extinction isn’t just numbers on a graph — it’s the silence where bird calls should be, the absence of salmon in a river that once swelled with life, the grief of entire ecosystems collapsing.

This was the gut-level truth that hit me: there is no such thing as a neutral act. Even my smallest daily choices ripple outward, brushing against countless other beings. That teacup I thought I was holding was in fact the whole ocean — vast, interconnected, overwhelming.

An ocean in a teacup — the vastness carried in the everyday

And once you see that, you can’t unsee it.

The facts are devastating: the current extinction rate is hundreds or thousands of times higher than the natural “background” rate. We are in the middle of a mass extinction event caused by human activity.

Behind that clinical statement lies grief beyond measure—the lives lost, the sentient beings gone, the ecosystems destroyed. It’s staggering. Some days I have to turn my mind away from those thoughts or risk being swallowed by despair. Other days the grief feels like an undertow, dragging at my chest until I want to grab strangers and yell, “Look what we’ve done! Look!”

And I emphasize the “we.” Whether directly or indirectly, I am part of the climate crisis, the habitat degradation, the death and damage to millions of other lives. That realization cut me open.

These thoughts aren’t new or original—many people have felt this anguish and carry this burden. But that doesn’t make them less true or less devastating.

Still a Power for Good

Through all that overwhelmedness, one thing crystallized: I am still a power for good.

I can’t single-handedly reverse species extinction or solve the global climate crisis. But I can make changes locally that benefit the beings I’m surrounded by. I can recognize the consciousness in my immediate environment and respond with respect and care.

Those realizations gave me direction, depth, and motivation for my spiritual practice that completely changed the game. They also left me vulnerable—I grieve now when I see news about destruction and pollution, not just for humans but for all the non-human lives affected.

The Mission Becomes Clear: Animism as a way of being

My mission, now, is simple: help reawaken animism as a way of being—a way of reconnecting to a living world we urgently need to remember.

In my first blog post, I said I started writing for my younger self, and that’s still true. But I also believe animism is critical medicine for the disconnection so many people seem to feel right now, and a practical response to the crises we’ve created.

Because here’s the truth: once you recognize that you’re living in a world full of conscious beings deserving of respect and relationship, you can’t unknow it. The knowing stays with you. And gradually, almost without noticing, you start moving through the world differently.

So Now What?

The question that emerges is simple: So now what? How do you actually live this way? How do you practice animism in a world that mostly pretends consciousness only exists in humans (and maybe some animals, on good days)?

That’s where we’re headed next. I’ll be sharing the framework that changed my own practice— stances for moving animism from an idea into lived reality.