The Nest at the Crown: Finding Meaning Beyond the Self

Across mythologies, the image of a sacred tree rises again and again. The World Tree. The Tree of Life. A great structure that connects the heavens and the earth, weaving together everything we know.

In Norse mythology, Yggdrasil stands tall across the nine realms. An eagle watches from its topmost branches, with the hawk Veðrfölnir perched on its forehead—symbols of higher sight, or perhaps, of divine perspective.

In Kabbalistic mysticism, the Tree of Life culminates in Keter—the Crown—representing the most refined form of spiritual energy. In Hindu traditions, Kalpavriksha is a celestial tree whose fruits and nectar nourish all who seek them, and its most divine offerings often reside at its top.

What sits at the top of the tree is always what matters most—what brings vitality, direction, and meaning to the whole.

Nesting and Nested Systems

In a recent post, I explored the idea of Nested Systems—the understanding that we are always situated within larger layers of support and influence. But not only are we nested within the world, but we are also nesting others through our thoughts, words, and actions.

Those beings, values, or futures that depend on us are the fruiting tips of our own tree of life. Their vitality brings integrity to our own structure. In other words, what we are giving rise to may hold the deepest meaning of all.

These beings can also serve as a compass—orienting us, anchoring us, and offering direction as we navigate life.

Simplicity at the Roots, Complexity at the Crown

Nested systems are curious. The most essential supports—sunlight, gravity, clean water—are also among the least complex. Without them, life would not be possible. But as we move upward through the layers of emergence, complexity increases. A human body is more complex than a cell. A culture more complex than an individual.

This layering is mirrored in ecology.

In environmental science, indicator species are organisms whose presence, absence, or overall health offers insight into the condition of the ecosystem they live in. These species are particularly sensitive to changes in their surroundings—so scientists observe them to detect early signs of ecological imbalance or recovery.

For example:

·         Amphibians (like frogs and salamanders) are considered excellent indicator species because their skin absorbs both air and water. This makes them vulnerable to pollutants, so a decline in amphibian populations can be a red flag for water or air contamination.

·         Lichens, which grow on trees and rocks, are highly sensitive to air quality. If you find a variety of lichen species thriving in an area, it likely has clean air. If lichens start disappearing, it might point to increased pollution levels.

·         Bees and other pollinators are also key indicators. Healthy bee populations suggest a well-balanced, biodiverse environment with ample flowering plants and minimal pesticide use. A decline in bees often signals broader agricultural and ecological issues.

When these species are thriving, it usually means the environment as a whole is functioning well. Conversely, if they are struggling, it can be a warning sign of deeper systemic problems—even before those problems become visible elsewhere.

In a similar way, the people or projects we Nest can act like indicator species. They show us something about the health of the wider system they’re part of—and about us, too.

·         Take a bright, engaged Year 7 pupil who begins to thrive at school. Their growing confidence, curiosity, and creativity aren’t just signs of personal potential—they reflect something about the school itself: attentive teachers, a safe emotional climate, and a structure that supports learning. That one pupil’s flourishing becomes a living signal that the environment is doing something right.

·         Consider Vincent van Gogh, whose most iconic works—Sunflowers, The Starry Night—emerged during a relatively stable period in Arles, supported by his brother Theo’s ongoing care and financial backing. His creativity didn’t arise in a vacuum. It was nested—however precariously—within a relational and material environment that allowed something extraordinary to surface.

·         Or think of an Olympic athlete standing on the podium. Their performance is the tip of a vast support system: coaching, nutrition, medical care, psychological preparation, and years of structured development. Their success tells a story—not just of personal discipline, but of a whole ecosystem working in harmony behind the scenes.

When those we Nest are thriving, it’s not just heartening—it’s diagnostic. It offers us a vital clue that our inner and outer environments are in good working order. We may not always be able to measure our own well-being directly, but we can often sense that things are right because those we care for are growing, expressing, or shining in their own ways.

Their flourishing is not simply meaningful—it is central.

Practising Insideness

There’s a particular state of mind I find helpful here. I call it Insideness—a felt awareness that we are embedded within something larger. It’s a shift from seeing ourselves as separate agents, standing outside life, to recognising that we are in the middle of it—surrounded, supported, and contributing.

You might begin to sense this with a very simple reflective practice:

Step One: Identify your roots

Ask yourself: Who or what supports my life, my health, my flourishing?

Write freely for five or ten minutes. Include whatever comes to mind—people, natural systems, past experiences, cultural inheritances, even daily routines. These are your roots.

Step Two: Identify your shoots

Now ask: Who or what do I support, in their life, health, and flourishing?

Again, allow your mind to wander. You might think of individuals, communities, future generations, creative efforts, or even aspects of yourself that are still becoming. These are your shoots—the beings and energies you are helping to bring forth.

The beings you are Nesting may need you in different ways. Some may require your steadiness, others your clarity or creativity. If you’re Nesting multiple people or projects, it’s worth noticing where their needs overlap—what quality or practice unites them?

For me, the phrase to rise and to give rise captures that intention best.

Blossoming Forward

Here’s the part that moves me the most. When we meditate on those whom we Nest—when we bring them into awareness as central—we begin to see something even more astonishing: they too will go on to Nest others.

·         A person raised in a stable but emotionally restrained home is encouraged in therapy to explore their inner world. Years later, they become a drama teacher who helps children express big feelings freely through performance.

·         A formerly isolated teenager is drawn out by the kindness of one teacher. As an adult, she becomes a designer who builds inclusive digital spaces that reduce loneliness on a larger scale.

·         A person supported in their artistic talents during childhood chooses not to pursue a career in the arts, but instead becomes a hospice worker, bringing creativity and beauty to end-of-life care.

And so the unfolding continues. We become part of a vast, ecological branching—where each thought, word, and action can ripple outward, carried through others in ways we can’t predict.

In this way, even our most subtle choices can be placed in a much wider context. We’re not just acting for ourselves. We’re supporting the future Nesting of others.

It’s a kind of quiet majesty: the realisation that something we’ve helped bring into the world is, right now, giving rise to something else.

Rippling

Existential psychotherapist Irvin Yalom called this phenomenon rippling—the way our influence moves outward in waves, through those we touch.

You might write a sentence that opens someone’s heart. You might care for a friend who goes on to care more deeply for their partner. You might plant an idea, or offer kindness in a moment when it’s most needed. You may never know the full effect—but it happens, all the same.

Rippling is not about being remembered. It’s about being part of life’s flow.

Finding a Higher Vantage Point

This practice of Insideness isn’t static. Sometimes, to deepen it, we need to shift our perspective—like climbing higher up the tree to see further.

• Travel might help you see new ways of living and being.

• Education or reading can offer a broader frame.

• Conversations with people from outside your everyday life can shed new light on your place in the system.

• Seeking supervision or mentorship can offer a more elevated view when you feel lost in the branches.

These vantage points don’t remove you from the tree—they help you locate yourself within it, with more clarity and vision.

A Different Kind of Peace

Eventually, we all face moments where life feels disorienting, and we wonder where to place our focus. There can be something deeply peaceful about looking outward.

By placing those whom we Nest at the center of our world—rather than centering ourselves—we may find an unexpected calm. A sense of purpose. A gentle direction.