Tree of Life & Family Tree

Kerry Jehanne-Guadalupe

DNA and Divine Aspects

As humans, we exist as multidimensional beings—simultaneously physical and non-physical, embodied and transcendent. Our lives unfold at the intersection of all levels of our beingness, which are connected and in continual relationship with one another. There is a living dialogue between our humanness and what extends beyond it, between the ordinary and the sacred, operating not as opposites but as a continuum.

Our souls incarnate into specific physical forms, entering particular genealogies that situate us within time, culture, and lineage. In this way, an interplay emerges between the family tree—as a metaphor for ancestry—and theTree of Life, as a symbol of our spiritual origin and continuity. One grounds us in form; the other gestures toward what transcends form.

Genealogy, nationality, and ethnicity offer ways of locating ourselves within the physical world. They provide structure, context, and story. And yet, I have come to experience soul and spirit as more intrinsic expressions of who we are—less defined by circumstance and more by essence.

The dance between our inherited DNA and our divine aspects creates fertile ground for learning while incarnated in form. Through countless lineages and lifetimes, the soul may gather experience, remembering, and evolving across many expressions of identity.

Like many people in the United States, my genealogy is a blend of multiple known ethnicities. As an adult, I have come to appreciate this deeply—the inclusiveness it implies, the quiet reminder that history lives within us in layered ways.

As a child, however, conversations about lineage did not evoke a sense of belonging. Instead, they often emphasized distinction—clarifying where I was from, while implicitly defining where I was not. Without intention, genealogy became a subtle vehicle for separation, shaping how I learned to locate myself within difference—anchoring myself within the consciousness of separation.

Years later, when I chose to explore my DNA, I realized that separation itself was not inherent—it was something I could either reinforce or release. I was baptized and raised Catholic, yet I am predominantly Jewish by blood. In addition to being Jewish by blood, I am also German. Along with being English, I also carry the DNA from countries England has been in conflict with, as I am also Irish, Scottish, Norwegian, Danish, and Russian. And yet, I do not experience conflict within myself.

This is not a rejection of my DNA or my ancestry; it is simply an expression of a strange feeling of being connected to ethnicities through my DNA and, at the same time, none of them through culture, tradition, or national identity. Eating foods associated with Germany did not make me feel German. Learning an Irish dance did not make me feel Irish. I am multi-ethnic by DNA, yet not multicultural in lived experience.

Growing up, I noticed how different this felt compared to friends who experienced strong cultural continuity. One friend, Dina, was born in the same New York town as I was, yet felt deeply connected to Italy—its culture, traditions, and identity. Being Italian by blood was part of who she was.

At the same time, during my formative years, geopolitical tensions shaped my own family’s narratives. During periods of strained relations between Russia and the United States, some relatives denied any Russian ancestry altogether, as though disowning lineage could separate us from a perceived enemy. This denial did not alter our DNA, but it did reinforce my sense of disconnection from ancestry as identity.

Though I don’t feel a connection to the cultures linked to my lineage, I do feel connected to the human race and the experience of being human. I recognize the shared conditions of embodiment, the illusions of separation that accompany third-dimensional consciousness, and the parallel experience of unity that arises within our multidimensional reality. Regardless of genealogy, souls enter form and forgetfulness. And through form, we are invited into remembrance of essence beyond lineage, and identity beyond categorization.

Culturally Constructed Meaning

Much of how we orient to our life experiences arises through the perspective of ascribed meaning. Culturally constructed meanings can have a significant impact on how we perceive ourselves and others. For better or worse, the stories we have been told about our ancestors, ethnicity, and nationality have the potential to influence us and shape how we perceive ourselves, others, and the world we live in. The meaning attributed to one’s genealogy / lineage may be confining or liberating, influencing the soul’s journey while in form.

It is widely recognized that many of the meanings we assign to ourselves and to others are socially constructed. I have often heard race described as a social construct—not in denial of lived racial realities, but as a way of naming how meaning has been imposed upon physical differences. Within these constructions, ideas of superiority and inferiority have taken hold, shaping how entire groups of people are perceived and treated.

There is something deeply unsettling to witness how such beliefs can root themselves, leading some to view certain ethnicities or social groups as inherently above others. Perhaps this reflects a dimension of our more constrained, third-dimensional experience—one in which separation and hierarchy are explored, not as truths to be upheld, but as lessons to be recognized and transcended.

Biologically, we are one human race. We share far more genetic similarity than difference; ethnicities are not different enough to divide us into separate human species. We are too alike to be divided, unlike certain animal species where variations in appearance permit the distinction of different races.

And yet, through social agreement, we are divided as distinctions have been imbued with meaning. The meanings ascribed to race / ethnicities need not be backed by truth—simply socially agreed upon. Regardless of validity, social constructs can have enormous consequences, and meanings ascribed to race / ethnicity can greatly impact a soul's journey while in form.

Throughout history, constructed meanings have been used to define both self and other, often functioning as instruments that serve those in positions of power—granting privilege to some while excluding or marginalizing others. Such meanings have not remained abstract; they have been mobilized to justify violence, oppression, and some of the most devastating atrocities the world has known.

Ideas of genealogical purity, eugenics, genocide, the distinction between “pure” and “polluted,” slavery, white supremacy, and even contemporary debates surrounding recompense and reparations all reflect the enduring and often painful legacy of meanings imposed upon race and ethnicity. Together, they point to the profound consequences that arise when socially constructed narratives are mistaken for inherent truth.

The Family Tree Within the Tree of Life

Culturally constructed meaning can be mobilized in ways that generate harm—such as violence, exclusion, and separation—but it can also be oriented toward experiences of harmony, reconciliation, and unity. For me, the experience of carrying both German and Jewish ancestry through DNA, without a strong cultural identification with either, has allowed unity to emerge as the meaning I ascribe to holding both. There is no internal conflict in this coexistence within me. This is not a denial of history, nor a dismissal of the profound and painful realities that exist between Jewish people and Germans. Rather, it is an expression of how this lineage lives within my own body and being—integrated, present, and not at war.

For me, a symbol that holds unity within the context of duality is the infinity symbol. It contains two distinct loops, yet they are inseparable, joined through a shared center. That central crossing point represents a unification of all that is. I experience this midpoint as a reminder of human oneness within third-dimensional consciousness—where separation and unity coexist. We are distinct, and we are one.

The center of the infinity symbol feels, to me, like a quiet void beyond human constructs. In this space, binaries dissolve, neutrality emerges, and a sense of spaciousness and expansiveness becomes possible. From this vantage point, there is no “us” versus “them,” no hierarchy of difference—only presence, connection, and the possibility of seeing beyond the stories that divide.

The meaning of unity that I ascribe to holding both German and Jewish ancestry may stand in tension with the cultural narratives often attached to those identities. Meaning and identification are rarely singular; they tend to arise from a blend of what is self-determined and what is imposed. Identities may be shaped internally—through lived experience, reflection, and choice—and externally, through nations, states, institutions, or religious frameworks. These sources do not always align. At times, a misalignment between self-determined and ascribed identity may not signal confusion, but agency—the quiet act of choosing, with intention, who one is and how one belongs.

I often wonder how much of who I have become has been shaped by meanings ascribed to me, and how much has arisen from my own essence moving through experience. As a child, I was frequently told that my temper was “because I was Irish,” and that my stubbornness was “because I was German.” Over time, these associations quietly reduced rich and complex cultures in my young mind to caricatures—hot-headed Irish, stubborn Germans—simplistic meanings attached to ethnicity without depth or truth.

These experiences raise questions not only about nature versus nurture, but about constructed meaning versus lived reality. I find myself less concerned with who assigns meaning, and more attentive to whether the meaning itself holds truth—and how such meanings, when internalized, may influence our perceptions, identities, and paths as we move through our earthly journeys.

It is understandable how easily we can over-identify with our physical form. This may be why a quote attributed to Pierre Teilhard de Chardin resonates so deeply with many people I know: “We are not physical beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a physical experience.” What a succinct and beautiful reminder. Our truest identities are not limited to our bodies or to the meanings ascribed to them. And yet, it is through our physical form that the soul engages with this world and continues its evolutionary journey. Within duality—through imposed meanings, lived experiences, and embodied encounters—the potential lessons of this journey feel endless.

The family tree within the Tree of Life reflects that lineage exists within something far greater than history alone. Our inherited stories, identities, and meanings are held inside a wider field of consciousness—one that invites integration and unity rather than division.

One World, Many Roots

Metaphorically, I love to think of family trees across the world as Aspen groves. From a single root system, countless trunks rise—distinct in form and position, yet intimately connected beneath the surface. Symbolically, Aspen trees offer a way to honor both individuality and interdependence. Each tree stands on its own while drawing life from a shared source. In this way, they mirror the human condition: separate yet unified, distinct yet connected, living individual lives while belonging to something far greater than ourselves.

When I imagine family trees as Aspen groves, I am also reminded of the concept of unus mundus—the idea of one underlying world from which all apparent distinctions arise. In an Aspen grove, what appears above ground as many separate trees is, beneath the surface, a single living system. The root network is not merely shared; it is the generative source from which each trunk emerges.

In this way, the Aspen becomes a living metaphor for unus mundus. Individual lives, identities, cultures, and lineages take form as distinct expressions, yet they arise from and remain connected to the same underlying ground. Separation exists at the level of appearance, while unity persists at the level of origin. We are many, and we are one—not as an abstraction, but as a lived reality unfolding through form.

Within this framework, difference does not require opposition, and individuality does not threaten belonging. Just as each Aspen draws nourishment from the same unseen source, human beings—shaped by ancestry, history, and experience—are rooted in a shared field of life. Remembering this does not erase difference; it contextualizes it, allowing diversity to exist without severing connection.

Lineage as a Living Intelligence

At times, I sense that ancestry is not only something we come from, but something that listens through us. As though the family tree is not fixed in the past, but alive—responsive to awareness, shaped by what is met and what is left unattended.

Perhaps lineage is a living intelligence seeking coherence across time. In this way, each generation becomes a threshold. What is seen, integrated, and softened in one life may no longer need to surface with the same urgency in the next. What is brought into consciousness may finally be allowed to rest.

From this view, we do not stand at the end of our ancestral line, but within its unfolding. We are not only descendants—we are participants. The Tree of Life moves through us not as obligation, but as invitation.

The Soul as a Traveler Between Trees

And yet, there are moments when I sense that the soul is larger than any single lineage. That it moves through many family trees, many cultures, many histories—gathering experience not to perfect identity, but to deepen understanding.

Seen this way, ancestry becomes a language for this lifetime, spoken through the body while the soul remains fluent in something larger. One life roots itself in a particular genealogy; another in a different soil altogether. Over time, the soul may come to know humanity not through one story, but through many.

Perhaps each lifetime is less about defining the self and more about remembering our place within one shared world. As with Aspen trees, what appears above ground as individuality is, beneath the surface, a shared and unified system. Through countless incarnations, the soul may be learning not separation, but connection—awakening to unus mundus, where difference does not negate unity, and where oneness is not an idea, but a living ground from which all life emerges.