The sky is a perfect blue above the jutting tops of the redwood trees. The sun filters through tree branches splashing a speckled pattern across the forest. Birdsong rings out against the rush of the creek tumbling over rocks on its way down the mountain. I stand small among the towering trees, wishing I could be one.
What would it feel like to be a giant redwood tree, standing tall and straight with my roots holding fast to the other trees underneath the firm earth? I wonder about this as I take in my surroundings and discover the rhythm of my breath.
My heels find their perfect niche in the ground. The balls of my feet follow as I lift my toes in Pada Bandha. My feet melt into the ground as I become one with the earth. My legs are strong and I imagine opposing magnets on my inner thighs that I’m trying to bring together. I stack each vertebra one over the other all the way to the top of my neck. This helps to release the tension in my shoulders and allows gravity to draw my armpits toward the ground. My fingertips reach down and outward like the bottom branches of a redwood tree.
Pada Bandha - is Sanskrit for “foot lock”. Lifting the toes allows the feet to root more deeply, which helps to find balance.
My body becomes a solid, straight redwood trunk, reaching tall toward the sky. Like a treetop, I drink in the sun from the crown of my head. I stand tall in tadasana (mountain pose) and feel like a strong redwood tree rooted deeply to the same earth that holds my ancestors and all of the people and beings that share the earth with me. As I inhale, I find my center and as I exhale, I reach my roots deeper until I find strength and connection.
In a storm, redwood trees bow and dance with the wind. They look like they should succumb to the forces of the sky and fall over. They don’t though because of their long, winding roots spindling beneath the forest floor where they create an unseen, interlocking root structure. Redwood roots are shallow, just a few feet underground, but their length is vast. They interlace and lock together in communal respect for survival, sharing nourishment and energy with one another as they hold one another fast to the earth so they can reach their crowns tall toward the sky.
Sometimes, in yoga class, I imagine we are a redwood forest, each of us rising up in our individual vertical spaces and sharing our energy with one another through our invisible root structure. We are each individual redwood trees, focused on our own postures and practice. We stand tall atop our mats, each with our own purpose, our own intention.
A collective, invisible root structure unfurls from our feet under our mats and together we are all part of the same earth. The soil that feeds us, as we grow tall, is the love and energy of our ancestors and our teachers’ teachers. We are each here alone, our own mountain or tree, but we share our energy with one other through our roots just like the redwood trees share strength and energy through their roots.
These days, we are feeling more fear and anxiety than usual. It’s more important than ever to stand tall and lock our invisible roots together. Like so many businesses, our local yoga studios and other self-care spaces are closing their doors in this era of social distancing. Fortunately, Ease Mountain, where I take classes, is adapting to the times and offering virtual classes.
It has really helped during this time of social isolation to be able to reach out to my teacher and fellow yogis from the safety and comfort of my home. We don’t even need to be in the same room to unfurl our strong roots through our community. We feed one another through an ongoing cycle of strength and love. Through our virtual yoga practice, we share our homes and hearts anywhere in the world.
I’m trying to see our Bay Area shelter-in-place order as an opportunity to practice ahimsa through our collective isolation. Ahimsa means non-harming or nonviolence. It is an unspoken universal union, among living things, of kindness and gentle empathy toward one another. Ultimately, ahimsa is respect. People sometimes confuse respect with fear or obligation. They are not the same thing. Respect comes from a place of love and the understanding that we are all worthy of a healthy, loved existence.
Consider the relationship between plants and animals as we cycle oxygen and carbon dioxide or the way we are born and nourished from the earth. We live, die, and become part of the earth again and on and on it goes. To pay respect to this cycle of life – the very breath of the earth – and all its components, no matter how big or small, is ahimsa.
By caring for ourselves and for our community with love and respect, we are practicing ahimsa. This is especially important in this new era of social distancing. We’re all vulnerable to losing someone we love or loss of livelihoods, homes, or safety. We must stand tall and reach our crowns to the sun to nourish ourselves so we may unfurl our long, invisible roots outward to support one another. We are isolated but not alone.
We stand tall like the redwood trees, locked in our solitary togetherness. If you’re really quiet and tune into the rustling of the leaves against the gentle breeze, you can hear the trees whisper slowly, “ahimsa” unto the world.
