Health with heart: Reflections on the intelligence of biomimicry

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My youngest daughter is 14 months old. Her vocabulary is limited to “mama”, “up” and “here”. Her ability to mimic other’s behaviour is more complex. Every morning and night, perched on my hip, she mimics spitting into the bathroom sink as I brush her sisters’ teeth. She pretends to blow her nose with tissues, laughs when something is funny and puts on shoes of any size. Our brains are designed to mimic what we witness.

Psychology describes the unconscious mimicry of others in adults too. The chameleon effect articulates how humans mimic the gestures, language and idiosyncrasies of the people around them in an effort to feel they belong. There is a fine balance in our striving for individualism and our need for community and belonging.

Plants mimic animals; animals and insects mimic plants. Animals and humans mimic behaviour too, more consciously when there is a motive. The plover is a bird that will feign an injured wing to distract a predator away from the nest it’s guarding. The flowers of the hammer orchid, Drakaea livida, use sexual deception as a pollination strategy. They not only mimic the shape of female thynnine wasps but also emit an odour that mimics the insect’s mating pheromone. 

We resort to mimicry to get what we need. Sometimes devious, but more often strategic and bright. We also use pharmaceuticals to mimic hormones and peptides in the body to reverse certain disease patterns. For example, beta agonists act like adrenergic molecules to bind to receptors in the lungs to relax bronchospasm in asthma.

Art mimics nature too. And the mimicry of the natural world may be the highest order of art. The recurring patterns of water, ripples, reflections, camouflages, cat skins, furs, variegated leaves. The spirals of shells, the cochlear of your ear, the clasp of a neonate’s fingers; through curling and unfurling, we are all part of this expanding, contracting, dividing, imploding biological universe.

I set out to comment on how important it is that we surround ourselves with people and daily work that embodies what we are trying to achieve or embody. I meant to say, if you spend time with kind people, you will be kinder. If you spend more time by the riverside, you will be calmer. And, yes, it’s true. 

But, what I realised while reading about the sexual cannibalism of the praying mantis and the predatory attacks of Komodo dragons is that nature is as full of terror as it is of wonder. Our capacity for good is as deep as our capacity for terrible things. We are such a clear continuation of this natural universe. I am here to give language to the dramatic, miraculous mirrors. 

And the mirrors are here to show you your best, and your worst, selves. 

In each of us, is a small measure of a metaphoric cannibalistic urge, we are egomaniacs and narcissists; we are, all of us, a little bit mad. We are also empathic, we are full of the white light, we are powerful beyond measure in our capacity for generosity and connection. So take heed from the mantis and the dictators of hives and underground colonies. 

Align your own mimicry to the ripples of the water and the rays of the sun.

Skye Scott is a doctor. She has a special interest in patient education, integrative medicine and mental wellbeing.

The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Mail & Guardian.