The Yoga Letters - Issue #2
Learning from trees
Trees in winter lose their leaves. Some trees may even fall during storms, but most stand patiently and bear their fortune.
Time spent near trees, and learning from trees, is never wasted.
Especially when we’re mindful of the lessons generously given by them.
Nature is, without doubt, the ultimate teacher.
As I write this, looking out of the window near my desk, I can see mighty pines standing tall against relentless rain. The fluffy heaps of their evergreen foliage bounce back and forth in the forceful winds up top. Below them, bare branched deciduous barks jut out in all directions, like fingers reaching for the elements.
On the surface, it looks turbulent. Dare I say, even desolate. But, in truth, it’s a picture of nothing but grace.
There they are, these trees, facing whatever that it is asked of them. As best they can.
There’s no resistance of reality, and there’s no hiding in shame, or pretending things aren’t exactly as they are.
The trees in winter are, to me, barrenly beautiful. Acceptance in pure form.
I know I do my best to try and remember this wisdom of these trees. Countless times I look upon them, summoning their strength as I make a cup of tea and look out at them for a moment of presence.
But, there are just as many times when I forget that they are there. Consistently there. Showing up, just as they are. While I get lost in my mind. But, when I remember to take a breath and when I look up at these trees, it’s always cleansing and it’s absolutely refreshing.
Now, I’m not saying that gazing up at trees in wonder is going to get rid of my problems. But what it does is it grants a little bit of space.
If we’re able to turn our attention, however momentarily, to something in the natural world, such as a tree, we will often see a teaching within its very existence.
After all, we are a part of this natural world, too, and yoga would say that we are an aspect of the oneness in all things. See my essay on The Yoga Sutras where I reflect on this a little more.
And this isn’t just hippy-talk. It’s backed-up by other ancient philosophies and, arguably, modern science: we know that what happens to one, influences all. The microcosm and the macrocosm. Nature shows us that this is evidently clear.
As a society, largely, we are disconnected from this knowledge. But it’s not lost. It cannot be lost. We’ve only forgotten it. But, just as easily, we can remember. Because this knowledge, as yoga has said for eons, is not something that we can lose. It’s in us. It is us.
I’m sure we’ve all had those moments out in nature, whether its beholding the trees, observing the ocean waves, or watching how the foraging bees start to gather nectar from lavender in the spring (it is coming, I assure you), when we viscerally feel our connectedness. And we feel refreshed by it. Mind, body and spirit.
Putting it into practice
A simple exercise in presence can really help to slow us down. Whether we’re in a physical hurry (such as trying to get to work or while out on the school-run), or a mental flurry, with thoughts spinning and to-do lists cluttering up our headspace.
Mindful moments can also ground and deepen our experience. No matter if it’s right before we settle down for a yoga class, or as part of our ongoing practice.
So, the next time you are out, or when you’re near a window with a view of trees, simply notice what is there. Privately note to yourself what you see.
If you have the time and the inclination, perhaps grab a pen and write down your description.
Perhaps you could try writing a poem, or a personal reflection.
For inspiration, here is the poet John O’Donohue’s take on trees:
“A tree is a perfect presence. It is somehow able to engage and integrate its own dissolution. The tree is wise in knowing how to foster its own loss. It does not become haunted by the loss nor addicted to it. The tree shelters and minds the loss. Out of this comes the quiet dignity and poise of a tree's presence. Trees stand beautifully on the clay. They stand with dignity. A life that wishes to honour its own possibility has to learn too how to integrate the suffering of dark and bleak times into a dignity of presence. Letting go of old forms of life, a tree practises hospitality towards new forms of life. It balances the perennial energies of winter and spring within its own living bark. The tree is wise in the art of belonging. The tree teaches us how to journey. Too frequently our inner journeys have no depth. We move forward feverishly into new situations and experiences which neither nourish nor challenge us, because we have left our deeper selves behind. It is no wonder that the addiction to superficial novelty leaves us invariably empty and weary. Much of our experience is literally superficial; it slips deftly from surface to surface. It lacks rootage. The tree can reach towards the light, endure wind, rain, and storm, precisely because it is rooted. Each of its branches is ultimately anchored in a reliable depth of clay. The wisdom of the tree balances the path inwards with the pathway outwards.”
Feel free to sketch/paint/sew the tree(s) if you’re feeling to do that more. The options for a spot of creative appreciation are endless.
Notice also, how you feel when you do so, and be mindful of your experience as you look upon and consider these magnificent beings.
Trees in yoga
One of my favourite yoga poses is Vrksasana (Tree Pose). I love it because it’s easily accessible—anyone can do it—and I can choose how I’d like to practice it on any given day. It can even be done while lying down on the floor!
On days when I’m feeling strong and secure, I enjoy the lift and poise of practicing with a foot tucked into my thigh and my arms reaching up, connecting to the elements. Whereas on a day when I’m more wobbly or tired, I am soothed by the feeling of gentle solidity that comes from keeping both feet close to the floor, with my hands quietly centred at my heart space.
Another reason why I love it is because the ancient Indian mythology that is associated with Vrksasana is beautiful. I’d need another post to explain it fully, but it involves a love story, and the essential messaging of the trees is to hang in there; to remain calm and steady, even in the face of turbulent times. Just as the trees around us demonstrate. And to remember that all things, all experiences, change; they come and they go.
To read a more detailed account of the philosophical meanings behind the pose, I found a lovey article on Yoga International, written by Zo Newell.
How to practice Vrksasana
From a comfortable upright standing position, with feet hip-width apart (known as Tadasana, or Mountain Pose), take a moment to root into the earth through both feet, so that you feel stable and grounded. Feeling evenly balanced through both sides of your body. If you like, you can practice near a wall to offer you a little more security, or indeed while lying down on the floor, to be supported by the earth. Sat in a chair, one can root through the seat and the feet, if they touch the floor.
If standing, gently begin shifting your weight a little into your left leg. Really root down through your foot. Externally rotate your right leg, just a little to start with, and carefully lift the heel of your right foot, gently placing it near your left ankle. If it’s part of your practice to do so, you can lift your entire foot to place the sole on your inner right leg. But never upon the knee.
Wherever you are with this, check that you feel balanced through your hips. There should be no strain and certainly no pain. And always feel free to take it down a notch. It’s no less of a practice to be practicing Vrksasana with both feet touching the ground, or while seated or laying on the ground.
In fact, I say that the stability at the root is what enables you to more easily enjoy the feeling of expansiveness (at the heart space) that comes with reaching up with your hands and into the air. Just like the branches of a tree.
With this, and as I mentioned earlier, you can also practice this pose more quietly by placing your hands in Anjali mudra (prayer hands) at the heart space. Or even at your hips, if you’d prefer.
Make it your own. Make Vrksasana a fluid asana that you are free to play with and tailor to your needs on any given day.
While you are in the pose, breathe.
Breathe your own way. Fully and peacefully.
Visualise yourself like a tree, perhaps your favourite tree, keeping a sense of lift throughout your body, but with a rooted base. Keep your gaze level or upwards and bring your drishti (your focus) to something that is not moving.
Observe yourself and all that you are. I like to imagine the circumstances that I am in when in this pose. Whether it’s a blustery storm or a sweet, sunny day, Vrksasana can not only help me to find my roots when I am in need of a little more strength, but it reaffirms presence and acknowledgement during times of joy, too!
Then, when you’re ready, you can come out and take the asana on the other side, with the other leg.
This pose teaches us that not only can we withstand the most challenging of times, but that they will pass. And that life is the continuous play of, what the writer L.R. Knost says, “the amazing and the awful.”
It also reminds us that we are all different and unique, just like the trees in a forest, and that we each have our part to play. We don’t need to be the same, doing the same things, in the same way. What’s more, it reminds me of the oneness between us all and everything around us, and that, ultimately, we are here to help one another along the ride of life.
In this way, the wisdom of the trees offers us the most refreshing teachings that there are to ever learn because it strips away everything that is unnecessary.
To end, I will leave you with the words of the late Ram Dass:
“When you go out into the woods, and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree.
The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying ‘You are too this, or I’m too this.’ That judgment mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.”
With much love, and peace, and endless kindness,
Louisa
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To accompany you this week, here is your Gentle January playlist.
If you’re a paying member, please also find the pre-recorded guided mediation, essay, and journal prompts for Issue 2 in your inbox.
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